


Speaking In Tongues

by Inferification



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, DCBB 2015, Domestic Violence, Fluff, M/M, Manipulation, Modern Fantasy, Non-Consensual Kissing, minor character death (past), witch!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-26 15:43:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5010445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inferification/pseuds/Inferification
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love confessions shouldn't turn into a bloody beating. That's not what love is. Reeling from a situation that never should have happened, Dean and Castiel must find a way to move past it, or risk losing everything they have built together. </p><p>Castiel buries himself in a missing persons case that hits a little too close to home in an attempt to come to terms with his actions, while Dean is forced to confront the fact that any relationship between himself and Castiel will be hopelessly unbalanced unless he can find a way to defend himself, and forgive the angel the hurt he's caused. As the case becomes more complicated, and Dean's spell-work is required, the pair of them are forced to work together to recover the very person Castiel has spent the past decade and a half running from: Naomi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Indivisible

**Author's Note:**

> This most definitely was not the fic I meant to write. That one is a lot longer, and contains a lot more fluff than this one. That being said, I hope this one is equally as enjoyable.
> 
> A big thanks to my artist, [esper_aroon](esper-aroon.tumblr.com), for their awesome drawings. Check out their work [here.](http://esper-aroon.tumblr.com/tagged/speaking%20in%20tongues%20art)
> 
> And another thank you to Ellie for betaing another of my fics.

Castiel has him pinned against the kitchen wall before he can even blink.

“Please,” the angel begs. “It’s so beautiful. Just a little touch? It won’t even hurt.”

Apparently taunting the guy who wants to bathe in the light of your aura and suck the emotions out of your supposedly irresistible soul was a bad plan. Dean isn’t exactly known for making good decisions, but this one is going to rip both he and Castiel apart if the angel loses control.

Castiel’s eyes have lost all trace of color, glowing a bright white as his angelic instincts start to take over.

Dean struggles, failing to move a fully empowered angel even an inch away from him. A deep fear wells its way up into his chest; Castiel has never been this desperate, this _uncontrolled_ around him before. Usually he keeps his instinctual need to claim and feed from Dean’s soul tightly under control, but all that has vanished in a haze of need and want. A haze of instinct Dean triggered deliberately.

“Castiel, _stop_. You don’t want to do this.” He freezes as Castiel slides a hand up under his shirt, palm settling skin to skin over his heart. Oh god. This was it. He was going to end up bound to Castiel, free will lost to the angel. What was worse was the sensation of his soul reacting, reaching out to Castiel’s grace longingly. As they meet, there a little flashes of bliss. It’s a double betrayal: his best friend-slash-love-of-his-life and his own subconscious.

Dean snaps out of his terror-fueled haze, lashing out in a futile attempt to stop Castiel. There’s a sickening crack as the bones in his hand give way before the immovable angelic flesh before him. The pain vanishes before he can even really feel it, angelically healed, but he can no longer move, Castiel obviously using his grace to keep him still.

“It is not my intent to see you hurt,” Castiel says, head tilting with confusion. Usually it’s adorable. Not so much now.

“C’mon Cas. I don’t know what’s got you all worked up like this, but you’re gonna hate yourself later.”

“You’ll enjoy it. I _know_ you will. If you’d just stop fighting,” Castiel says, voice low and hints of his true-voice leaking through. 

Bile rises in Dean’s throat. He’d been such an idiot to think living together could ever work. He knows Castiel finds his soul the most beautiful and irresistible one he’s ever seen. He knows that Castiel wants to move their relationship beyond platonic, but is happy to keep their friendship if Dean wants nothing more. That’s what he’s said. This is on Dean. He’s the one who made such a stupid, naïve decision to try and confess his love to Castiel. He should have kept things platonic. Even though his own soul disagrees with him, sensations of pleasure and even love rising up to mix with those of agony.

“ _Please_ Cas. I don't want this.”

Castiel falters, the glow receding a little from his eyes.

“Dean, I-” he stutters, withdrawing a little.

Hope rises in his chest. Castiel will fight this, and things will go back to normal. They’ll both apologize and go back to repressing whatever emotions they have for each other. Then Castiel shakes his head and pushes Dean against the wall with renewed force.

Castiel kisses him.

There’s no doubt he’s a skilled kisser. It’s nice, but Dean doesn’t kiss back. How can he? Deep down, buried in amongst the repression of his own reciprocal love for Castiel, he’s imagined this so many times. They’ll have quietly acknowledged their love, as Dean tried to do. Castiel would take him out to dinner in the fancy place down the road that they both pretend to hate. They’d stumble home, blushing and reveling in the freedom to touch, and then when they reached Dean’s room, Castiel would ask him for a kiss.

Dean will agree and their lips will touch gently, lighting fireworks under his skin. He’s a fucking romantic at heart and what Castiel is doing _hurts_ like nothing else can.

It’s not meant to be taken from him unwillingly. It’s not meant to be forceful, Castiel dominating utterly. 

His eyes start to sting with unshed tears and Castiel notices. He cups Dean’s face gently with his free hand, wiping away the tears with his thumb before they can fall. His face drops when Dean flinches, rather than leaning in as he normally does, and he looks so completely hurt for a split second that Dean’s heart aches in sympathy. It vanishes into a mask of indifference in the next breath.

“It’s not like you can stop me. Your own soul rejoices.”

The air fills with static and the scent of ozone as Castiel starts to draw power into himself. A significant amount needed to bind grace and soul.

Dean renews his hopeless resistance as Castiel starts chanting in guttural Enochian. Dean's charms are across the room and he can’t tap directly into the power of the earth unprotected with so much energy rippling through the air. He’d blow out half the street. He can only watch as his best friend, and possibly something more, continues, ears deaf to Dean’s pleas.

He closes his eyes fighting to the end, but not wanting to see the look on Castiel’s face as he drains Dean’s soul.

The air is pierced by a sudden ring of the landline. Castiel’s head snaps around to the source, distracting him enough for Dean to pull free of the sticky strands of grace.

With only Castiel’s hand holding him against the wall and the angel distracted, Dean slides sideways as he draws his will to himself feeling the subtle tingle of magic on his skin.

“Sekura Lokon!” he whispers.

A blossom of energy ripples out from his body, forming a large circle, bisected by the wall. He can’t form a circle separating him and Cas, but he can use his magic safely within it.

“Argento Snuro,” he yells, drawing power from the Earth. Silver strands of power wrap around Castiel, pulling him back and away from Dean before he can react to the suddenly altered conditions.

The angel turns, crackling with power, but stops when he takes in Dean. His clothes float in an unseen and unfelt breeze.

“I said _stop_ , Castiel of the Seraphim.”

The angel’s eyes are still blazing white, a sure sign that he can’t be reasoned with.

“You have no power that can stop me, _witch_.” Castiel spits the words at him, venomous where he's usually kind. 

Dean shrugs. He may not match the angel on pure, unadulterated power, but he has a better chance to snap Castiel out of it with his magic.

“Never stopped me before,” he smiles, throwing in a flirtatious wink for good measure.

Castiel scowls. The angel is still, staring transfixed at Dean with the gaze of a predator intent on their prey.

He lunges for Dean suddenly and Dean dives out the way, skidding on the wooden floor. Castiel appears on his back, smacking Dean’s head into the floor with his grace. Pain blooms, and the warm sensation of trickling blood down his scalp alerts him to the fact that Castiel has moved past annoyed and into angry. When Cas got angry, someone or something got broken.

Dean tries to push the angel off with a burst of energy, but his magic fizzles and flickers haphazardly, only dislodging Castiel a little. His vision blurs as Castiel flips him over, straddling him in a way that under different circumstances would be inherently sexual.

There’s no resistance on his arms, but he can’t move them. They’ve become heavy, and the world around him ripples like he’s underwater.

Castiel punches him and his vision completely blacks out to the crack of his cheekbone breaking.

If there’s one thing worse than being eternally bound to Castiel’s will, it’s dying. His connection to the protective circle wavers and breaks, unable to stand up to the strain of his physical beating.

Dean manages to get an arm moving striking out at Castiel again, but his arm is caught, and cleanly snapped in two before he gets close. All that escapes him is a moan of pain.

Castiel’s weight lifts off him and he instinctively curls in on himself, trying to protect his head and arm from more damage. His breath comes in pained pants and it’s all he can do to stop himself from crying out as Castiel kicks his back.

“Please Cas. I- I _need_ you,” Dean gasps out. “Just stop.”

He's always needed Castiel far more than the angel needs him, and if he wanted proof then this is it. The next kick jostles his arm and a broken whimper escapes.

“I’m going to rip your soul from you. When you finish screaming I’ll consume it in front of you.”

At Castiel’s change of heart, Dean’s soul pulls away from where it was still desperately reaching for the angel’s grace. It curls into the smallest ball it can, settling in his rib-cage.

He struggles to pull himself away, drag himself across the room away from Castiel and the angel stops him before he can move more than a few inches. He pulls Dean up and into his arms with no more difficulty that if Dean was an infant. He cradles him preciously, and lowers him to the table in the kitchen with ease. It’s easier to pretend Cas cares when he touches him like this.

“Your soul sparks so much more brightly when you’re desperate. Perhaps I’ll keep you after all.”

With no more ceremony, he plunged his hand into Dean’s chest and grips his soul.

There are people who chose this voluntarily. Dean’s seen them. They walk around with dulled eyes and forced smiles, cruising like junkies until they can get their next hit. Those that don’t end up permanently bound to an angel don’t last long, the strain on their soul too much to live with. Those that do end up bound face a worse fate. It’s the eradication of self.

It’s said that to have the touch of an angel directly on your soul is to experience pure bliss. That’s not what Dean experiences.

The part about pure bliss is completely accurate, but nobody has ever mentioned the connection to the angel. It’s as if Castiel has crawled into his soul and made a home there. Even as Castiel starts draining his soul, he can feel the angel’s emotions. The anger, fear, and desperation are a heady taste, lingering on his tongue. But behind that is an overwhelming surge of love. Buried under the memories of Dean’s smile and the way he looks in the sunlight, and _fuck_ Castiel’s angelic vision is awesome, is an all-encompassing adoration for one Dean Winchester.

They’re fully exposed to one another, no secrets and all emotion laid bare. And to think there was a serious debate into if angels _could_ feel, let alone about the depths of their emotion.

It hurts, though. There are no words to describe the agony of being so close to someone who loves you, and yet would violate your very soul in order to reach that closeness. It’s as if he’s being flayed, his very being stripped by the same love that caused it joy.

Dean just wants Cas to stop, but he’s not sure why anymore. Everything has been left behind in their connection.

The angel stops suddenly and Dean keens at the loss, crying out as they start to pull apart. Castiel’s emotions have turned sour, self-hatred and sorrow heavy in his thoughts. Dean tries to reach him, to sooth as he always does when his family are hurting, but Castiel brushes him off and vanishes from his thoughts and soul without even a goodbye.

Dean lets out a quiet sob as reality reforms. The aches and pains of his injuries remain, but they’re dull compared to the agony of Castiel forcibly touching his soul, and then ripping them apart. He can hear voices, a deep low one, Castiel’s, and a higher louder one.

“Don’t even think about going in there, Castiel. I’ll rip the wings from your back and cast you so deep into the Pit you’ll never escape if you dare _think_ I’ll let you near him after what you did.”

Anna. Dean breathes a sigh of relief when he realizes Anna is here. Castiel’s sister is one of the two people the angel trusts, Dean being the other. She’s also the only angel on Earth to match Castiel in sheer power.

Since Castiel left his flock twenty years ago for freedom and choice, Anna has been his only angelic contact.

Castiel is speaking too quietly for him to hear his reply, but the heartbroken tone is clear.

“Love means _nothing_ if you ignore his wishes, Castiel. And you are a fool if you think Dean will _ever_ allow you to touch his soul after this, much less bind himself to your will.”

Love. Of course. That was why Castiel stayed with him when all he did was hurt the angel by keeping him at arm’s length. That was why Castiel suffered through the temptation of binding Dean’s soul to him to be close. Castiel had told him many times how much he wished for a deeper relationship, but Dean had convinced himself that all Castiel wanted was sex and the start of one. That’s why Castiel put up with all his crap.

And Dean has ruined it. He’s thrown everything they had and could have had away with flirting, teasing, and tempting, wanting a love match first, until Castiel had snapped.

He feels sick. He deserves this pain if he put his best friend through such a horrible existence. And Castiel had warned him. Time and time again he brought up the fact that his patience wasn't endless and Dean had laughed it off.

He loves Castiel the way the angel wants and hell, after that horrifying experience he knows Castiel feels the same way. Dean had convinced himself that he was just a pretty face and a passing fancy to the angel, the way most people saw him. It never seemed to matter that Dean had a personality underneath, it had been reinforced time and time again that all he was good for was a quick fuck or a relationship firmly rooted in the physical. There were exceptions, Benny and Lisa accepted him for who he was, but love with a vampire was never going to end well, and love with a human was always going to end up marred by death.

He has to stop Anna before she drives Castiel away. It’s going to be hard to pull themselves back from this, but he’s willing to work for it, the angel is worth it. Dean pulls himself into a sitting position with his good arm, gritting his teeth to ride out the pain of his broken one jostling. The world spins, but he drags himself out of bed and towards the blurred sounds of Anna and Castiel’s discussion.

They’re just outside his bedroom door and they both spin to face him the moment he crosses the threshold.

His eyes fall on Castiel and he can’t stop the soul-deep wave of terror that sweeps through him. His friend’s hands are coated with Dean’s blood. Castiel’s hair is matted with it. He’s run his hands through it in that way he does when he’s reached his limit of being able to deal with his feelings.

Dean tries to turn and get back into bed, away from the matching sets of worried blue eyes, but Castiel catches his good wrist at just the wrong angle and Dean lets off a powerful burst of energy before he can even think.

It hits Castiel and he swiftly removes his hand as if burned.

The movement has him off-balance and he stumbles, almost falling before Anna catches him. She lifts him in her arms, carrying him back to bed. The only thing to cause her to falter is Dean’s growled “Get the fuck off me.”

And she does. A fully-formed wavelength of celestial intent masquerading as human, with enough grace running through her veins to incinerate him where he stands, backs off simply because he asked. It’s the little bit of respect he needs.

“Dean-” she starts the moment he manages to get back into bed. He loves Castiel with every part of him and they both know it, but he can’t even look at him right now after what he did.

“I know,” Dean cuts her off. “I shouldn’t have pushed him. And now I’ve ruined everything and he’ll never touch me again. And fuck. Right now I don’t want him anywhere near me. But-”

His voice is getting more and more choked up as he speaks and he has to avoid blinking to stop the tears pooling in his eyes to leak out. Anna takes his hand in hers and that’s okay, he needs something to ground himself.

“You can’t blame yourself, Dean. I’ve heard Castiel talk about you. It wasn’t your fault. _He_ is the one who chose to force the issue.”

“But I should never have pushed him. God, Anna. I’ve been flirting and teasing him because I like the fact that it riles him up.”

“No. I don’t care what you think you did to deserve Castiel beating you unconscious and ripping into your soul as if he had a right to it. I can’t believe he-” Anna cuts herself off, worried eyes settling on Dean. “I want you to know that I’ll support any action you want taken against him.”

“Action. Wait, what? Anna, no!” Dean stutters. Anna is Castiel’s only family. She’d turn her back on Castiel because Dean made a mistake? He can’t let that happen.

“Imagine if it was a different angel. And another witch, how about Charlie? You’d bring the authorities in without a second thought,” Anna snaps. He recoils slightly and her gaze softens.

“It’s not that simple,” Dean explains. Charlie wouldn’t have brought this on herself. He’s just too _stupid_ to know when to stop.

“It is. It really is, but you just can’t see it, Dean. You think your situation is different because you care about each other, but that just makes it worse,” she says. Her grip on his hand tightens and his heartrate doubles with a flash of fear.

“I _love_ him,” Dean says, his voice barely a whisper. He hates the way it comes out croaky and weak, more like a plea than a confirmation. He knows things can’t go back to the way they were, but he wants it so desperately. Castiel made him feel like he was worth something and he doesn’t want to give that up.

Anna’s face twists into complete sorrow; it’s devastatingly beautiful.

“That’s why you can’t ignore this. You might think it’s love, to forgive and forget and move on as if nothing happened, but that’s not fair to you or Castiel.”

Dean moves to sit up, but Anna stops him with a slight pressure on his chest.

“Just hear me out. You’re allowed to be angry with him, Dean. You need to take the time to be hurt and upset and to run those emotions through their natural course, or you’ll never be able to fully regain your trust of him. It will fester. And Castiel needs to realize that he has some serious issues to work through. You can be good for each other, but only if you’re good to yourselves first. Be selfish for once in your life. Or if you can’t be selfish, do it for Castiel. Become his motivation to get better,” Anna gushes. “Look. How about you take a few days to make a decision?”

She’s right. He can’t face Castiel right now. Being around the angel will just make Dean more defensive, more angry, and deep down, he can admit that he’s terrified of being alone with him. Dean’s reaction will rip Castiel apart.

He closes his eyes and breathes deep. He doesn’t _want_ to leave their home, their little church where they’ve lived for nearly fifteen years now. Dean _has_ to.

“Keep an eye on him when I’m gone. He gets antsy when I miss dinner, never mind stay out all night. And don’t let him spend all day brooding, I know how he gets,” he says. It’s the closest he can get to admitting that he’s leaving. If Anna stays, then she can look after Cas.

Anna cups his face with one hand, but it’s too much like Castiel’s less than tender affections and he flinches back, shaking.

“Sorry. Where will you go?”

Dean smiles faintly. “Benny’s.”

The vampire won’t let Castiel anywhere near him.

Anna smirks back. “That’s sure to irritate Castiel. Good choice. He deserves to suffer. Let him.”

At the thought of Castiel suffering at all, Dean’s stomach turns, then clenches with worry.

“I want to speak to him before I go. Let him know it’s just for a few days.”

He doesn’t meet Anna’s eyes. She will definitely disapprove.

“Dean-”

“No. I don’t care what you think, I want to speak to him.” His eyes blaze in anger and he knows his irises will have taken on a silver, witches shine. Anna can’t keep Castiel from him. Not now. “Castiel,” he calls. “I have to speak to you.”

Anna purses her lips in annoyance, more than aware that Castiel is hardly going to ignore Dean’s request. Not when he wants exactly what he’s been offered. She leaves in a rush of air, not bothering to walk out.

When Dean looks up, he can see a movement by the door: Castiel.

“You can come in, you know. Don’t lurk.”

He looks wrecked. Cas has obviously cleaned up, all hint of blood vanished, but he’s moving slowly, hunched over on himself to look like less of a threat. Dean has to suppress a snort at that. A threat is exactly what Castiel is.

“Anna thinks it’s a good idea if I clear out for a few days, and I agree with her.”

Castiel’s head snaps up and his face telegraphs pure terror. Dean has to suppress the urge to lower his gaze as their eyes meet. Whatever Castiel has done, they are still equals, and Dean won’t be cowed because he got a shock.

“I understand,” Castiel rasps out. “I will have my things packed up and out as soon as possible.”

“Fuck that,” Dean snaps, finding courage in anger as he always does. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s fucking difficult to even be in the same room as you alone right now, but I’m not leaving forever. I need a few days. You owe me that.”

“Oh.”

There’s an awkward silence before Castiel speaks again. “Dean I-. I’m sorry. I didn’t-. I couldn’t stop. And I-” The angel pales to a sickly shade of grey. His eyes grow distant and as full of horror as Dean is at Castiel’s actions.

“It was bad, Cas. It was really _fucking_ bad. I don’t think I can just bounce back from this one. But we can fix this,” Dean says. He tries for a smile, but he knows it fails when Cas’ jaw clenches and he looks away.

“I’ll be here when you return,” Castiel says. Then turns and walks out the door, leaving Dean to his thoughts.


	2. Insurmountable

Having Dean gone is like having all light sucked from the world, all which is good and pure. It’s nothing but blackness and the aching knowledge that it is all your fault. Dean’s been gone for five days, and each day Castiel hopes it will get better only to be disappointed. His prayers have gone unanswered thus far.

Being alone again is a harsh reminder of the world he left behind. Sometimes he regrets leaving the simple and well-defined life of angelic customs and society, but a quick word or two with Dean is usually enough to alleviate such thoughts. After all, mindless obedience enforced by angels such as Zachariah, with reprogramming and social isolation the cost of disobedience, is not worth having an uncomplicated life. Just spending five minutes with Dean proves that.

At such times over the past few days, when he starts doubting his decision to leave, to fall, he cannot turn to Dean. He is only left with himself as a reminder of his choices. He _disgusts_ himself. The only mirror left in the house is in Dean’s room, which is sacrosanct and will not be defiled by his presence. Castiel cannot return home and beg for forgiveness and an end to his torment without giving up Dean and the life he has here. It will save Dean, but Castiel is too selfish to do that.

He can barely go an hour without seeing his own hands covered in Dean’s blood, or hearing Dean beg him to stop, or seeing Dean’s broken body lying in his arms. Castiel is spiraling back into old habits with Dean gone, spending what feels like an age staring into space, trapped in memory.

Occasionally his memories are older. A drill cutting into his mind and grace again and again until he cannot even remember his own name. Or Anna leaving.

All his relationships are violent. Or end that way. There’s something fundamental about angel psychology that when strong emotions develop for someone, it falls apart in a ferocious and brutal manner. He’s never actually hurt someone he loves physically before, but several of his previous relationships have ended in nasty fights when he gets close.

Castiel cannot think of one angelic marriage made out of love. Convenience and mutual respect are the most common reasons angels marry, passion is never a factor, and now he knows why. Perhaps he should give up on his dream of a love match and settle for a loveless union.

He deserves it too. The fear and hopelessness in Dean’s eyes when he kissed him without permission will haunt him until the end of his life. As would Dean’s love. Even as mixed with distress and hurt as it was, Dean’s love for him is breath-taking. Especially now that he has proved himself so utterly unworthy of it.

The phone rings but Castiel ignores it, letting Anna answer. It’s been ringing a lot, mostly for him and his PI business, but a few worried students for Dean, asking if Professor Winchester is okay. That’s the difference between them. People care about Dean. The witch inspires love and affection wherever he goes like a beacon of hope. And yet Dean still believes utterly in his own worthlessness, convinced that he doesn’t deserve the concern of others.

Castiel is a different story. He intimidates people. Every person aside from Anna and Dean becomes scared, annoyed, or indifferent towards him. Anna is bound to him by blood and family, but Dean chose him. Dean understands him in a way Anna can’t.

He won’t blame Dean if he never comes back. The man has every right to run screaming from him. Castiel mainly hopes Dean doesn’t come back. It would be the safer option for him, than to live with a monster that thirsts for his soul and could lose control again. Could? Will lose control again. For all Anna has managed to defeat the Grace within her, drawing it to her will, Castiel has failed. Without the strict hold of obedience and ritual, the untamed power of Castiel’s grace is eating him alive.

Dean’s coming home today. It's the one thought that keeps him going.

A maelstrom of emotions grip him, hope, anticipation, fear, love. Deep down, his vicious, untamed grace wants Dean close again, to claim him as a thing, and it rails against Castiel’s decisions to let Dean decide. Joy rises, rapidly subsumed by worry.

The sound of a key turning in a lock has him spinning.

Castiel moves without thought, hurrying to the sanctuary just in time to see Dean step through the doorway.

He looks awful.

It’s not the fading bruises on his face, the stiffness on his arm, or the awkward way he’s moving, although that doesn’t help. Castiel had prepared himself for the physical results of his crimes. It’s how Dean has bags under his eyes, and the way they’re blood-shot. He’s wearing clothes that aren’t his, a little too large for him and decidedly under-layered. His soul is closed off too, dim and furled when it’s normally bright and open. Dean lingers a second too long in the doorway only to take a step back once his eyes land of Castiel.

There’s a flare of anger at whoever did this to Dean before he remembers that it was _him_. His own hands breaking and bruising without hesitation or thought for the consequences.

“Dean…” His voice trails off when Dean refuses to meet his eyes. Castiel clears his throat in the silence. “Would you like some tea?”

His words are so utterly ridiculous for the moment that he can’t help but shift a little, then stiffens as a second person moves through the door.

Benny. Dean’s ex. The one who _didn’t_ break Dean’s heart. They broke up completely amicably for a reason Castiel isn’t privy too. They’re still friends and as inadvisable Castiel believes it may be to be friends with a vampire who lusts for your blood, Benny has never touched Dean. Benny has never hurt Dean the way Castiel has. If this is who Dean needs to feel safe then Castiel cannot begrudge him it.

Vampires don’t have souls the same way witches and humans do. Their souls are marred by blood and violence, chained to their bodies. When a vampire dies, the soul dies with them. The idea of someone with a soul such as Dean falling for a vampiric abomination is unnatural, and yet Castiel with all the grace of an angel, cannot best this one.

Dean smiles, wan and fake. “That would be great thanks.” 

He still won’t meet Castiel’s eyes. Benny places a hand on his shoulder but Dean shrugs it off with a hint of annoyance. Hope flares. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Dean shuffles out of the sanctuary and up the stairs to his room in the belfry with the speed of an eighty-year-old human. It goes against every fiber of Castiel’s being to let him go without help.

As soon as Dean vanishes from view he heads to their gorgeous kitchen, heating water on the stove on autopilot. Their kitchen is a work of art. It’s Dean who sat down with the contractor and told them exactly what they needed. It’s Dean who pushed the issue and made sure they had two ovens and two stove tops, so he can bake and cook dinner and produce spells all at the same time. It’s Dean who built the spice rack, and who insisted on a little non-kitchen section so Castiel can do work and yet still be around Dean.

Dean made their kitchen home.

He’s so distracted by his racing thoughts and guilt over Dean that he doesn’t notice Benny following him until the vampire speaks.

“I didn’t ask him what happened, but I’m not an idiot, Castiel,” he hisses.

Castiel doesn’t turn around from where he’s standing in front of their herb and tea cupboard, completely unable to choose which would be best for Dean. He’s used to choosing teas by flavor. It’s Dean who knows their properties, not that he drinks them voluntarily. He leans heavily on the counter at Benny’s words. The anger in Benny’s voice is clear, a sure sign that his fangs will be out.

“I have never thought you to be one,” Castiel replies. Chamomile tastes a little of apples, but lemon balm makes Dean smile when he allows Castiel to make it for him. Perhaps the peppermint? It makes Dean sneeze, but it’s the only one Castiel has caught him making.

“I ain’t gonna threaten you, ‘cos Dean won’t like that,” Benny growls. “And he isn’t some child needin’ defending.”

The memory of Dean struggling ineffectually against him rears in his mind and Castiel grips the counter to stop himself from balling his hands into fists. Dean shouldn’t need defending. Out of the two of them, Dean’s the strong one. But not strong enough to stop an enraged angel.

It annoys him that Benny can speak about Dean in such a familiar manner. The vampire succeeded where he failed. Benny never lost control around Dean.

“I’m starting to wonder what you are doing in the kitchen then. Unless you’re hoping for a cup of Dean’s tea.” His words are bitter. Benny’s here at Dean’s request. Castiel is the one to blame for the vampire standing in his kitchen, talking about the love of his life.

Castiel decides on lemon balm. He takes it out of the cupboard and pours the required amount of dried mix into the tea pot.

“Dean asked me to be here, sunshine. And I wanted to check that you were working on whatever sent Dean to my door.”

“It will not happen again,” he says. He takes the boiling water off the stove and pours it into the tea pot and finally turns to face Benny. It’s a lie. Anna has given him some pointers and referred him to a therapist who specializes in anger management, but he can’t allow himself to believe the things he’s saying.

“It _can’t_ happen again.”

Castiel blinks and tilts his head a little in confusion. There is some nuance he is missing between will not and cannot.

“I mean it Castiel. I’ve seen Dean at some of the lowest points of his life and they were nothing compared to how he was after you were finished with him. Now he’s one of the strongest men I know, but I don’t think he can take someone else screwing him over like that. And-”

Benny stops talking suddenly as Dean comes into the room, still swaddled in clothes a size too big. Benny’s, Castiel realizes.

“Well this is awkward,” he comments, taking in Benny, who looks horribly guilty, and Castiel, who feels like dropping to his knees and begging Dean for forgiveness then and there despite the audience.

Dean still doesn’t meet his eyes. It hurts more than Castiel expects. He busies himself with pouring Dean a cup of tea.

“It’s lemon balm,” Castiel smiles. It’s forced, but he smiles anyway because if he looks sad Dean’s going to blame himself and start hiding how much he’s hurting.

Castiel passes the mug to Dean, but their hands brush and Dean flinches so violently that he drops the mug and it shatters, hot water spilling everywhere.

“Riparo Taso,” Dean murmurs.

The cup comes together easily, shattered pieces reforming without a seam.

Dean’s eyes flick to Castiel’s for brief instant. “Sorry.”

“Don’t you _dare_ apologize to me,” Castiel says, voice cracking as he speaks. Some unidentifiable emotion rises to lodge in his throat and stays there, pressing painfully on his windpipe.

Dean’s soul glows brightly in response, reaching out to Castiel’s grace. The same grace that’s whispering again to take this fragile, brilliant soul and claim it for his own by any means necessary. He reigns it in tightly. Love doesn’t have to be mixed with violence to be real.

“I smashed the mug.”

“You smashed the mug because my touch is no longer without _threat_. And that is _nobody’s_ fault but my own.”

“Then what do you _want_ from me Castiel?” Dean yells. The loss of his nickname doesn’t go unnoticed. “You didn’t have to _force_ me. I would have done anything but the soul-bonding if you’d just _asked_.”

Benny reaches out to rub Dean’s arm soothingly, but Dean shrugs it off angrily.

“I think I’m going to get going. Call if you need anything.” The vampire makes a hasty exit, but still finds time to shoot daggers at Castiel with his eyes.

Castiel simply takes the mug from Dean, pleased when this time he doesn’t flinch, and pours them both some tea.

“Will you sit?” he asks, gesturing to the island counter he’d installed when Dean had mentioned that using the kitchen for cooking and witchcraft meant there wasn’t enough space.

To his relief Dean agrees and sits opposite Castiel, staring at his steaming mug.

It sets Castiel on edge. Dean isn’t reactive, or quiet, or hesitant. Dean fills silences with opinions and laughter and music. Life the past few days has been monotonous and still, even with Anna’s constant presence. He’s not sure he wants to find out what he’ll do if it continues indefinitely. Watching Dean’s hands curl and uncurl from his mug instead of them talking is more than a little distressing.

“If you ever touch me like that again I’ll rip your wings off with my bare hands and burn them to ashes,” Dean says, breaking the silence. It’s perfectly calm, like he’s stating facts rather than making a threat. It’s the first time a threat makes Castiel shiver with fear.

“I won’t.” Another lie. If Castiel ever dies he will _burn_ for this.

Dean’s eyes flicker up to his with a hint of surprise. Castiel truly deserves all the torment the Pit contains if he’s lead Dean to believe that hurting him is something he desires. A wave of nausea passes over him at the thought of losing control again, which he hides by taking a sip of tea. It scalds his tongue but it’s a welcome distraction.

“That’s nice to hear. Can’t say I can believe you. Why didn’t you stop first time ‘round?”

He tried. He fought so desperately and hard to stop. The waves of pleasure and satisfaction he received when Dean’s arm snapped, when he pinned Dean to the floor, when Dean was a bloodied mess begging for him to stop kept him awake at night. Castiel’s hands shake a little at the memories. He’s not sure many people have ever felt as disgusted with themselves as he does right now.

“I-.” Castiel stops, guilt heavy in his chest. “Angels feel just as much as any other person.”

He takes a moment to check Dean is listening. The witch has gone back to fiddling with his mug of tea, but is otherwise engaged.

“You aren’t,” Castiel squints at Dean who hasn’t reacted at all. “Surprised by this?”

“Dude, I’ve lived with you forever. Your robot act don’t hold up when I’ve caught you laughing at cat videos on YouTube.”

Dean grins and it’s beautiful enough that Castiel’s breath catches in his throat. It’s genuine and everything he could ask for at the moment.

“Before I go further, I’d like to iterate that this in no way excuses my actions towards you. I hope that my explanation will inform you on angelic behavior rather than pressure you into forgiveness.

“I’m so sorry, Dean.

“I believe you more than most understand how the mind, body, and soul can be acting in opposing directions. For instance, right now, my mind is focused on this conversation, my body is signaling my arousal at having you in the same room, and my grace is insisting I try once more to bind your soul to me.”

Dean tenses immediately and Castiel feels the build of power on his skin. He stays perfectly still, waiting for Dean to calm down and his magic dissipate.

“You’re a goddamn bastard, you know that?” Dean rumbles. His eyes are blazing with withheld fury and his grip on his mug of tea has solidified.

Castiel winces. “My grace is what remains of my angelic ancestry. It is my very essence, but it cares very little for what I actually want. My grace is me without rational thought or control, it is utterly reliant on emotion and the last vestiges of primitive, animalistic instinct. I have loved you for a very long time, but never allowed that love to grow into passion.” 

Dean’s eyes flash to his with such hope and _longing_ that Castiel can barely restrain himself from reaching out and touching him. 

“But my grace twists that love into possessive absolutes.”

“So what you’re saying is that you like me,” Dean rubs the back of his neck. “And bang up job on the love confession by the way, real romantic.”

Anna was right. Dean does want to be romanced and courted and treated as something beyond all value.

“But angels are like soul vampires and are basically just waiting to hurt people. Their wants mean nothing compared to their need,” Dean finishes.

“Almost. Angels do have vampiric tendencies when it comes to the allure of souls, human and otherwise, but we can control that side of us. Most angels choose not to feel, or are _forced_ into not feeling. It’s not exactly control, but we can unify our own desires with that of our grace. Turn the grace towards a higher purpose than base instinct. Anna tells me that learning to process rather than suppress emotions is important, without reprogramming,” he says. “She thinks I should sign up for anger management classes.”

Dean drinks some tea, sighing almost imperceptibly as the warm liquid settles on his tongue.

“Well that’s nice, Cas. A little kumbaya and meditation and you’re not gonna go postal next time I piss you off. That ain’t exactly a comfort.”

“Dean, I understand it will take time to rebuild the trust betwe-”

“ _Trust_? You _smashed_ that trust the night you decided that what I wanted didn’t _matter_ anymore. You broke it the moment you took instead of asked. I’m sorry, Cas, but I can’t just accept that you’ve got a handle on everything. Not when I know I don’t have a hope defending myself.”

This is the moment Dean’s going to insist on moving out. Of dropping their mutual love for each other and moving on. Castiel can’t do that. He can let Dean go but he’ll never stop loving him.

“Cas. I need to feel safe living here. When I was with Benny-.”

Castiel’s grace gives a possessive, angry swirl. Castiel himself isn’t much better.

“When I was with Benny, I always felt safe. He never even tried to bite me and I could damn well stop him if he did. I don’t. I just don’t see how we can get past this, Cas. Love ain’t some kind of cure-all,” Dean says. His voice grew more and more choked through his speech, but it gives Castiel something to hold onto.

Dean wants to choose him, but can’t due to Castiel’s actions. He can’t due to Castiel’s foolish need to never be vulnerable. Dean knows none of Castiel’s physical weaknesses, and it cost him dearly.

“I can help with the defense issue.”

Castiel flies to his room without thought, grabbing an ancient tome on angels and various binding, banishing, and protection sigils. He stole it the night he left angelic society for good, reasoning that Zachariah would not acquiesce without a fight.

When he reappears in the kitchen he’s hit in the chest by a mug, which shatters on impact, drenching him in luke-warm tea.

Dean laughs.

“Thought you were someone else,” he says lightly.

Castiel starts to scowl. The nerve of this witch, thinking to humiliate him.

He thumps the book down on the counter, making Dean jump and it hits him how Dean is trying so hard to be okay with this. The anger diffuses instantly. He’ll take being covered in tea a thousand times over if Dean will look at him with trust in his eyes once more.

“This contains everything you need to know. Please do not attempt to use the spells outside of these walls. If any angel other than my sister discovered I have taught you this, we will both be killed.”

Dean’s eyes widen for an instant and then shutter. He takes the book with care, checking the contents page first.

“Holy shit,” he says. “I mean, it’s fucking nasty that you have to use blood, but this? Thank you, Cas.”

Dean’s face shines with excitement. The way it does when he figures out a new application for witchcraft. He’s morphed from a bundle of nerves and hyper-awareness into a man full of happiness. How he should always look.

“Would you like to be my guinea-pig?” Dean asks, smirking.

Castiel sighs inwardly. The discomfort Dean will put him through in testing out these spells is a fraction of the pain Castiel put him through. If it helps to fix what Castiel broke, then he’ll be only too happy.


	3. Blood Runs Cold

When Dean turns up at Benny’s door, beaten, bloody, and barely standing, the vampire doesn’t even pause. He leads Dean to his spare room, wraps Dean in a warm woolen blanket and runs a bath.

Benny keeps up a steady stream of talk, discussing his plans for the summer and how he is going to take his great-granddaughter to the warm California coast and teach her to sail. He helps Dean into the tub and with washing the awful metallic stink of blood and fear away. Benny doesn’t need Dean to say stop, or do much of anything. He reads Dean’s body with as much skill as he always had, being especially careful of his ribs and broken left arm.

Once they’re done and Dean cannot find the strength to stand, he simply pulls Dean into a bridal carry, a gross imitation of Castiel earlier, and gently lays him on the bed. Clothes appear seemingly from nowhere, swaddling Dean in their lovely Benny-scented warmth.

At some point, Dean must have let out a sound of distress at the idea of Benny leaving, so the two end up in the same bed, cuddled together like it was a decade ago.

Benny never tries anything. He envelops Dean in his arms, holding him close as he cries noiselessly, never once asking why. The only time he lets on that he is still attracted to Dean is when Dean accidentally grinds his ass into Benny’s dick in the middle of the night.

There’s a quiet, “Don’t think that’s what you’re lookin’ for, chief.” Then Dean finds himself sleeping on Benny’s chest.

Benny has always been perfect for him in every sense apart from the fact that vampire society frowns deeply on monogamy, and that Dean refused to let Benny drink from him. The sharing of blood is apparently a pleasurable experience comparable to sex, but there’s always something about letting someone use his blood that puts Dean off. Probably the fact that people with his blood can do all sorts of horrible blood magic with it.

Benny finds it hard to disentangle sex and drinking blood in the same way Dean does. They tried an open relationship for a while, then a polyamorous relationship with Andrea, but Dean could never quite quell his jealousy and own possessiveness for the relationships to flourish. Benny ended up pledging himself to Dean and Dean alone, living off blood bags provided for those vampires without friends willing to share blood with them.

That was fine, apart from the fact that it made them both miserable and it made Benny feel like there was something to be embarrassed about with drinking blood. Not to mention the fact that Dean felt awful for denying Benny something that made him happy.

When Sam appeared like a sledge-hammer to disapprove of everything, and Cas suddenly started appearing more and more, and the two of them were dealt a killing blow. Benny didn’t want to have to feel like shit for _being_ a vampire, Dean didn’t want to have to feel like he shouldn’t trust Benny _because_ he was a vampire.

So they broke up, Dean moved into the church with Cas, Benny got a new house, and they’re happier apart.

Doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Or that Sam’s approval will ever matter to Dean again. He doesn’t want to know what his brother will say about his and Cas’ incident. Probably spout some well-intentioned generic advice about abuse survivors and congratulate Dean for leaving.

Actually Sam would throw a fit if he knew Dean was spending the night at Benny’s instead of somewhere ‘safer’.

Dean opens his eyes away from the memories into the sunlight of his own room, back in the converted church he shares with Castiel. He’s been setting his alarm early so he can get leave before Castiel wakes up. It’s juvenile, but he’s taking a lot of pleasure in watching Castiel stumble out of bed and try to talk to him just before he slips out of the front door and to work. He can handle sleepy, confused Cas who doesn’t look capable of breaking a pencil, let alone a person.

Today, however, he’s going to say goodbye. 

He inches out of his bed, almost toppling onto the floor in an attempt to not jar his ribs.

Maybe he’ll wear the nice suit today. Sure, his college dress code is whatever the fuck he feels like, and usually he takes advantage of that and wears jeans so that whenever something explodes there’s minimal damage, but Cas wouldn’t stop _staring_ at him the time he wore this suit. It’s a little vindictive, but it feels good to make Castiel suffer a little bit.

Plus he looks dapper as fuck. Maybe it comes from being born in the ‘20s but there’s something about a good suit that makes him feel great about himself, even if he still looks like he lost a fist fight with a guy twice his size. Hopefully his students will spend more time ogling his ass than fretting about Professor Winchester’s assault.

Pulling on his slacks is an easy task and he can persuade his fingers to pull a zipper and fasten a button with only the barest hint of pain. All his button downs are almost fully buttoned already, the biggest difficulty being getting the sleeve over his immobilized arm; magic has its uses, he’s lucky it’s not a cast. There are token protests from his ribs at having to lift his arms, but he ignores them with ease. The real difficulty he has is with his tie.

Castiel broke a lot of the bones in his left hand by stamping on it and then using it as leverage to break his arm, and Dean had fractured the knuckles and a few fingers in his right hand by punching a wall in a fit of rage after the incident. It made moving his hands horribly painful and his fingers stiff. After a few attempts he gave up in frustration, letting it hang loose around his neck. Some kind student or desperate TA is sure to help out the poor injured Professor.

From there, all he needs to do is shrug on his waistcoat and a jacket, simple. He supposes he’s lucky that making it through multiple wars has taught him how to dress whilst in pain.

He manages to reach the top of the stairs without anything aching and starts the trek, taking one step at a time because for some reason, his back only hurts when using stairs, despite the fact that he stopped pissing blood two weeks after Castiel. He should have gone to the doctor, but that would lead to him explaining exactly how he ended up beaten to hell and back. No thanks. He is angry and hurt and upset with Cas but not to _that_ extent.

By the time Dean reaches the last step he’s ready to collapse. He should move to the spare room. It’s not like it’s next to Cas’ or anything. Yeah, that will go well. Cas gets to freak out and wallow in guilt when Dean wakes him up screaming and Dean will spend all his time worrying that Castiel is too close.

He should stay in his tower. All his stuff is up there and the rooms below him put some space between him and Castiel.

Right on time, Cas stumbles out of his room, all sleep mussed and bleary. Dean used to hand him a coffee right about now, but he’s standing at the foot of the stairs instead, feeling the usual jolt of affection in his stomach from seeing Cas.

The angel looks Dean up and down, eyes lingering on the waistband of his slacks and the way the waistcoat defines his waist. There’s definitely a hint of arousal in Cas’ gaze which Dean can feel proud of. At least his plan is working.

“Dean I-” Castiel says, then frowns in a way that sends a shiver of fear down Dean’s spine. “Why are you still here?” He squints and tilts his head in the way Dean finds utterly adorable.

Dean would like to say he has a better handle on his emotions, but the truth is that he snaps from one to the next more easily than a leaf on the wind these days. It doesn’t happen to this extent at work, thankfully, though he has found he reaches the peak of his emotions more quickly. His students have noticed too and he’s had more than a few worried faces in his office.

Convincing them everything is fine and that he’s just having a rough time with his injuries is easier than expected.

Castiel hasn’t truly had the chance to see him and the angel’s gaze swoops over him, neatly cataloging each of his injuries. A glimmer of hope starts up in his eyes when he realizes Dean isn’t running away. 

Cas has noticed Dean’s complete and utter avoidance of him. That’s good. He’s respected it as well, even though he’s obviously unhappy with it.

“I lost my keys.”

Castiel stares for a few moments, obviously debating whether to call Dean out on his lie or not. “Your tie is undone.”

He takes a few steps towards Dean. Dean moves backwards, foot hitting the bottom step and causing him to trip and grab onto the banister for support. It would be fine if his fingers actually worked and his ribs weren’t busted but his uncoordinated escape from a rapidly approaching Castiel ends in a whole lot of agony. He lets out a wholly embarrassing grunt of pain as he jars his ribs.

Castiel reaches for him and he lifts his immobilized arm to protect his face before he can stop himself. “Don’t hurt me, please,” he blurts.

Cas pulls his hand back as if burnt. He moves a comfortable distance away and Dean manages to regulate his breathing and calm his heart from racing uncomfortably fast. He runs a tired hand through his hair. Everything to do with Cas is exhausting and yet he’ll _gladly_ take a chance encounter that feels more like a marathon than move on.

“I can fix this,” Cas says. He’s standing there in his boxers looking so lonely and forlorn that Dean nearly takes pity on him and lets him use his grace to heal him.

It’s a horrible juxtaposition. He wants Cas near him at all times, he wants to meet him at the door when he comes home from work with a kiss. He wants lazy afternoons spent curled up together watching bad horror films. And at the same time, he never wants Castiel to touch him again.

“I know you can,” Dean replies after a moment of silence.

“Then why won’t you let me help?”

Cas is as desperate to fix this as Dean is. Just like Dean, he has no clue how, and less of an understanding of why. The angel has only been living outside the gated compound angels favor for fifteen years, and Dean is his major example of how people act when they aren’t bound forever to you.

“Look, Cas. I’d love to just forget that you used me as a punching bag, but I can’t. I’ve been trying to not just ignore it and move on like I normally do, ‘cos all that does is sit around and come back when you do something next time.”

“Dean I would-.”

“What, Cas? Never _hurt_ me? I think the ship sailed on that one,” Dean spits. He doesn’t know when he got so angry. He’s practically shaking with pent up frustration.

Cas has turned into a kicked puppy but just for once in his life Dean decides he’s going to ignore the beseeching eyes and hurt front. It’s _him_ that ends up broken and bleeding in an alley, or a motel room, or kicked out on the street once Castiel realizes that Dean doesn’t give enough of a damn about himself to fight for them. It may have taken him ninety four years, a host of bad relationships and two great ones which fell apart, to wise up to the fact that he can ask for things for himself and be selfish. Or he ends up resentful or strung out from trying to look after his significant other.

He and Cas could be great together, if Dean can just find it within himself to deal with their issues instead of letting them build up and wreck things in his life. True, not many of his relationships have started with a beating and he knows it’s fucked up in ways he can’t find words for that he’s still in love with Cas after that, but they’ve been dancing around each other for years. Dean will be damned before he allows Castiel’s messed up angelic issues to get the better of him.

“Oh c’mon, you don’t get to make me feel guilty over this, Cas. What I was going to say was you using your angel mojo to heal me feels way too much like ignoring things. I know you want to make things better, but just _erasing_ the evidence isn’t the way to do it,” Dean explains. The sudden look of understanding on Cas’ face puts out his sudden anger with ease.

“You need a reminder of what I am capable of,” Castiel says, inclining his head. “Will you at least allow me to fix your tie?” Cas asks. The puppy-dog eyes are back in full swing.

“Fine,” Dean sighs. He uses the banister to haul himself upright again despite the aching ribs and the two of them move slowly into each other’s personal space.

Dean shudders as Cas grips his tie. A little fear, a little arousal, both culminating in Cas pausing, his lips close enough to touch. They break their eye contact after a moment, Cas swiftly tying the knot and drawing it close to Dean’s neck.

Cas cups Dean’s face with his hands, bowing to temptation and this time Dean does flinch, unable to hold back the memory of Castiel forcibly stealing their first kiss.

Cas takes a step back, arms raised non-threateningly. “Sorry.”

“Okay. Goodbye.”

Dean’s out the door and into the safety of his car before he can embarrass either of them further.


	4. Dangerous Game

As confusing as Dean can and has been over the past few weeks, Castiel tries to ignore things and concentrate on his work. He tracks down a troll, two elves, and a vampire for dealing enchanted ecstasy, handing them over to the police happily. He also takes on several commissions to find missing people, finding most of them as feeders for vampires, or else bound to angels. The only one causing him any amount of difficulty is Naomi of the Dominions.

The angel is responsible for almost all the reprogramming done in the Host. Her disappearance is strange. More so is the fact that it has gone utterly ignored by most of the angels and unreported to the police.

An anonymous message appeared two weeks ago on his doorstep, alerting him to the problem. He would rather not spend his time searching for a woman who puts humans so far below angels as to be little more than pets, and who spent long hours forcing him into submission before he left, but he cannot leave this until he knows she is alive. His nightmares are nothing in comparison to a woman's life.

It may be foolish to show kindness to one who hurt him deeply, but rumors have trickled through the angelic community to him and Anna of growing disobedience and a lack of enforcement. Whether this is due to Naomi’s disappearance or not he cannot determine. She is not the only one with such skills.

So far, the leads are growing more and more flimsy by the day and Castiel’s usual places to check are all mysteriously quiet. It’s as if the angel has vanished into thin air. Castiel would usually have asked Dean to help a week back, but with the strange but improving relations between them, Castiel doesn’t want to be the one to rock the boat, or push Dean.

Going to April is an awful plan, but he can’t think of another option. Sam is the only other witch apart from Dean whom he can rely on, and Sam would ask questions as well as being far too unskilled for what Castiel needs. Sam, like many low-power witches, excels at traditionally academic pursuits, but lacks a certain aptitude for using spells. Not to mention the fact that Sam and Dean, although friendly enough, have a history of hurting one another. There’s some mysterious link between spellwork and learning disabilities, as Dean well know,s and it only widened the rift between he and his younger brother when Dean was accepted into the magical community with open arms whereas Sam preferred humans.

April is the only other alternative. Witches are far from rare, but witches willing to help an angel are few and far between. Her soul is swamped in darkness and angry reds, not that a black soul necessitates evil, but April’s soul has a _repellent_ quality quite unlike Dean’s bright silver one. Dean is unavailable right now on account of him panicking every time Castiel come within five feet of him.

Thus Castiel is being forced to come to April. She lives in the bad part of town, in an apartment building teeming with cockroaches and addicts of all kinds. The souls of the humans here are cloudy and dull, nothing like the beauty of Dean’s bright soul. The thought of Dean hurts a little. The witch is no longer actively avoiding him, but there’s still a rift between them. Dean’s not ready to talk or forgive Castiel in the same way that Castiel isn’t ready to forgive himself. Perhaps that is why he’s punishing himself by trying to help someone he abhors.

His anger management classes are just about the only thing going well in his life. Although his grace still gives an occasional angry stir when Castiel pushes it down in its yearning to own Dean, it’s far more likely to reach out with longing and love. As a side effect, it’s increasingly protective over Dean, matching Castiel’s grumpiness every time Benny is around.

The vampire is Dean’s rock in the same way Anna is his.

He’s been standing outside April’s door for close to fifteen minutes when she finally decides to answer his knocking. It takes a little time, April having to unlock multiple locks and chains. He suspects he even hears a counter-curse, but the thick wooden door blocks most of it.

“Hello Castiel,” she purrs as she lets him inside.

Castiel will forever be grateful that her apartment is clean. On occasion everything in April’s apartment has been hidden under a layer of grime and dirt. 

There’s a disturbing collection of pickled animals in jars on one wall, and a disgusting collection of entrails but April has assured him that they’re used in her witchcraft. He doesn’t know what sort of spells need these ingredients, but when he’d initially brought it up with Dean, his witch had pulled a face and refused to talk about it.

“So, angel, what brings you to my doorstep after all this time? Loverboy just not doing it for you?” April smirks.

Castiel takes a moment to assess the situation. April is many things, but subtle is not one of them. The way she’s splayed suggestively, yet casually in her armchair speaks of nothing but trouble for him.

“I need a favor,” he says.

April’s smirk becomes positively predatory. Perhaps it was a mistake coming here, considering that he usually paid for favors with sex. April is hardly unattractive, but engaging in any kind of intercourse at the moment seems too much like a betrayal of Dean and his fragile rebuilding trust.

“Interesting. What do you need?”

“Information. A woman is missing and resisting all my attempts to find her,” Castiel explains.

“Oh. So a location spell? Have any of this girl’s DNA? And her name?” April grins. She begins to rummage through her wall of pickled animals bringing out newt eyes, toad tongue, and bat wings. Dean never has to use such items, he uses plants and occasionally direct magic.

“I have some of her hair and her name is Naomi of the Dominions. She’s an angel,” he tells April. “Why do you need DNA, Dean never does?”

“Well if _Dean_ doesn’t need it, why should I?” she asks. There’s nothing but cruelty and jealousy in her tone. It was a mistake to mention Dean.

Castiel hands over Naomi’s hairbrush without further thought. He had a vague memory of Dean telling him how dangerous it could be if witches had a genetic sample, but he trusts April enough to not screw it up when it’s for a stranger.

April takes it and pulls out a detailed map of the city. She refuses set a protective circle like Dean does, simply launches into a guttural chant in a language Castiel doesn’t recognize. The smell of sulphur rises in the air, saturating everything with its heavy scent. There’s a crackle of power in the air, heavy and savage.

She pulls out a silver knife and cuts her palm blood spattering across her wooden floor and uses a fingertip to write Naomi in blood over the map. Castiel draws away slightly. Blood is primarily used for offence and defense by angels. April then takes her newt eyes, mutters something under her breath and crushes them in the palm of her uninjured hand. Goo splatters everywhere including Castiel’s trench-coat. He’ll have to clean it when he gets home to the church.

April begins her chant again, adorning the map with carefully drawn symbols using the newt eyes. The toad tongue is swallowed, much to Castiel’s disgust, and the bat wing burnt on April’s alter to Lucifer. Distasteful to do in front of an angel, but acceptable considering he came here for help.

The map bursts into black flames. Castiel doesn’t panic, he’s seen it before. Just because the flames are usually demonic in origin doesn’t mean these ones are. Dean’s fire is always a brilliant hot white, tinged with blue and green. The methods are different, though, so that’s probably why.

Soon enough, the only piece of map left is centered over a set of warehouses over the other side of the city, near the docks. They’re in Crowley’s territory and nobody messes with the high-ranking demon. According to Dean, he and Crowley dated for a while in the ‘60s. Apparently they split up due to a difference in opinion on the use of pain and third-party torture in the bedroom. Castiel suspects there’s a little more to the story then an amicable split, Dean being the only witch to have survived dating a demon, but Dean gets a dark look in his eyes whenever he mentions it. It makes Castiel reluctant to push further.

If Crowley has Naomi, then it certainly explains the complete lack of leads. The demon has his fingers everywhere. His network of thugs and associates may be less extensive than Zachariah’s, but he has the fear factor that the angel lacks.

What Castiel can’t work out is why. Crowley could have taken anyone. Someone who wouldn’t be missed. Hell, he can’t work out why Crowley needed someone unwilling in the first place. The demon has hundreds of people at his command. And to have not shielded her location is incredibly foolish. As far as he’s aware there is no way to misdirect a location charm such as April’s. It focuses on the soul. Unless Naomi is working for him willingly, but in that case, why is she refusing to continue her duties?

Castiel refuses to simply walk into Crowley’s compound in the heart of the demon’s territory without a good intelligence. That’s how you get yourself killed. He certainly can’t go alone, and he can’t use April for backup. Which means asking Dean.

Dammit.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts by April snaking her arms around his waist.

“So, angel. You want to repay that favor now?” she leers. Her pupils are dilated, ruby red lips slick with saliva.

Castiel gently pushes at her shoulders until she disentangles herself. Another time, another year, he could take what she was offering without an inch of regret. She is an attractive lady, despite her penchant for the morally reprehensible.

“Wow. You’ve changed your tune. Don’t tell me it’s over that innocent little _witch_ you live with,” April sneers.

Castiel winces. April is complicated. He wouldn’t put it past her to go after Dean for his rejection.

“I am sorry, April. I can no longer in good conscience pay you back in that manner,” he apologizes.

“Fuck you, Castiel,” she says. It’s quiet and bitter and full of hatred. Perhaps he has made another mistake.

“It was not my intent to harm you,” he explains.

“Sure it wasn’t. You and your principles, angel. You won’t touch me because of your little crush on your _whore_ , but you’ll use me when it suits you. You knew my price and you came here anyway,” she snarls. All the kindness has gone from her face, there’s nothing there but maliciousness and spite.

“Dean is _not_ a whore,” Castiel snaps. His grace rails against his boundaries, viciously reaching out to snap April in two for her insolence.

“If that makes you feel better. He’s the only witch I know of who _willingly_ fucks demons and vampires,” she smiles. The barbs of her words cut deep. She’s always been good at using the truth as a weapon.

“Is there anything else I can give in exchange?” Castiel asks. If he can repay the debt to April it will put his conscience to rest. It’s not like she’s lying about his motives, he’s too in love with Dean to sleep with someone else.

“Oh let’s see. You’re not going to fuck me, so I’ll just have to settle with a kiss.”

Castiel sighs and closes his eyes. A single kiss is acceptable. He hasn’t yet kissed Dean and they’re in no formal relationship as of yet. He supposes this is better than having April angry with him. She can make his life extremely difficult if she wants.

Sensing his acceptance, April moves back into his personal space and crushes her lips against his. April demands his attention absolutely overwhelming his lips with her own. She presses the length of her sensual body against his and he wraps his arms around her, hands tangling in her hair. She kisses him like a woman possessed, recklessly and forcefully. He lets out a small gasp before he is once more caught in the exquisite taste of an enticing woman.

A flash of green from behind her curtains distracts him for a moment and before he can stop himself, his mind is consumed by Dean. Castiel wonders what Dean would be like as a lover. Would he be like April, jealous and electrifying in his onslaught, seeking his own pleasure above all else? Or would he be passive, allowing Castiel to take the lead in all things, reacting instead of being proactive? Maybe he’d be Castiel’s equal, or even focused entirely on Castiel’s pleasure. Both of those options would be novel.

Castiel may have ruined their first kiss, but he will not let any future ones pass by without cause for celebration.

When April finally pulls away, there’s a sharp pain in his scalp where she’s pulled hard enough to hurt. She’s pleased with herself. Castiel cannot help but think if this is how Dean felt. He enjoyed the kiss on a physical level, but emotionally all was numb. Dean hadn’t even given his _consent_ for their first kiss. He probably felt awful.

Thinking about Dean has him feeling nauseous. He doubts April will take it lightly if he vomits after kissing her. He feels bad enough about the kiss while his affections so clearly belong to Dean as it is.

“Don’t contact me again, Angel. I let you off lightly this time, next time you won’t be so lucky,” she threatens.

It’s no idle threat. April is dangerous in all the ways Dean _isn’t_. Dean could rip someone apart with his magic, but he wouldn’t destroy them. His sense of right and wrong is too firm for that. April could take Castiel and ruin him until he was nothing but an empty shell. Then she would kill him, and enjoy doing it.

“As you wish.”

He heads out the apartment without another word. He shouldn’t have come here.


	5. Face to Face

Dean loves lazy mornings in bed. Waking up slowly, slipping from sleep smoothly. He doesn’t get to do it often, it’s a luxury. Now with the gentle caress of soft sheets on his skin and sunlight shining bright he takes a moment to lay back and sink into his mattress.

Everything aches. His broken ribs, his face, his back. Dean’s gorgeous memory foam mattress he spent half of his first pay check after making tenure on is doing wonders, better than Benny’s brick of a mattress.

He rolls over, pressing his face into the pillow. Cas would lose his angelic _shit_ if he ever found out that nugget of information. Not that it’s any of his business. It wasn’t like he and Benny fucked. Just some seriously non-platonic cuddling. It was better than waking up alone with nobody to hold him while he shook off the last vestiges of adrenaline from a nightmare that was more memory than anything else.

Yeah. Lazy morning were only great if you didn’t spend them reminiscing about how the great love of your life would rather spend his time pounding your face into the floor than pounding you.

Dean snorts. Real eloquent Professor Winchester. The kids at the U. would be proud.

Wallowing isn’t something Dean enjoys. Nor are screaming matches. Or talking about his feelings when he doesn’t have the answers. Those are his options. Wallow, start a screaming match with Cas, or start vomiting up emotions and _crying_ all over himself. None of them are exactly pleasant options.

The smell of bacon drifts into the room and Dean smiles softly. Cas has been making him a cooked breakfast every morning since he moved back in and started acknowledging Cas’ existence. It’s a sweet gesture, and though Dean puts up a token grumble at the fact Cas truly cannot cook, and he really can’t, his breakfast is edible at best, he accepts it. It’s Cas’ way of trying to make things better between them. Dean wishes he could just get the fuck over himself and move on, but every time he sees Cas he panics. Or relives the taste of Cas on his lips, or the way it hurt when his arm was snapped in two.

It’s not rational and it pisses him off how dramatic he’s making things.

Cas knocks on the door. “Dean? Breakfast is ready.”

That’s another thing. Cas refuses point blank to come into his room. Before the beat-down, the best Dean could ask for was a knock on the door before Cas would barrel in, plonking himself down next to Dean with some exciting story of some drug dealer he’d tracked down or some witch who had turned to less savory forms of magic.

Dean used to love it. It reminded him of a time when he used to throw himself into the line of fire. After forty years of fighting in various wars and as part of the police force, usually the only one able to combat the witches from the other side, he came to the decision that it was easier to stop kids getting desperate if you gave them options. So sure, his job wasn’t as glamorous as Cas’, he didn’t find criminals and hunt them down. What he did was teach college level witchcraft and head up the teacher-student partnership scheme for students with learning disabilities.

It’s better this way. Fighting how he did fucked with him in ways he can’t put into words. This allows him to continue helping without destroying himself in the process. Plus if Cas ever needs backup, he’s always available.

Still. Castiel is avoiding him so playing backup in the future is unlikely unless Dean does something about it. Not that he wants to. Seeing as last time he tried to ‘do something about Cas’ it turned out terribly. Trust him to turn his big romantic reveal into a fight ending in a fracturing of the relationship.

Dean pulls himself out of bed with a groan as he and pads down the belfry, across the sanctuary, past the cracked and crumbling alter he sees Cas praying at sometimes, and tiptoes into the kitchen.

Cas is predictably swearing at the stove. Seeing as there’s smoke rising from it, it’s an appropriate response.

“Mornin’ Castiel,” Dean says. He manages to keep smiling until their eyes meet.

“Hello Dean.”

The kitchen looks awful. Cas’ corner is covered in papers, as Dean hasn’t been able to move himself to tidy like he usually does. Which means the filing system is all messed up because Cas may be able to put on the organized businessman front to Dean’s absent-minded professor, he can’t translate that into _actual_ organization. And that’s before he even gets to the rest of it.

He settles himself at the island, watching Cas and his beautiful ass slave over his breakfast.

Cas dumps a mug of coffee in front of him with a handful of tablets. Now, Cas’ cooking may suck ass but his _coffee_ is second to none.

He’s been trying. The angel apologizes at least three times a day, attends some hippie anger management class religiously, and does stupid romantic bullshit like make terrible breakfasts.

Most embarrassing, and admittedly adorable, were the flowers from ‘anonymous’ sent to his office each day. His students had picked up on it and in the manner of students, had organized in an attempt to discover Professor Winchester’s secret admirer. The girl at the front desk said someone with dark hair dropped them off each day before he came in. He hadn’t quite managed to work out how Cas was getting them there before he arrived seeing as the angel couldn't fly through angelic warding, but he was sure it would all make sense later. 

His students thought it was _adorable_. They were also trying to find out who beat him to a pulp so they could enact revenge. He really didn’t want to know what they’ll do if they find out Cas is both the sender and the perpetrator.

Cas bangs a plate of burnt pancakes and undercooked bacon in front of him and plonks himself opposite Dean. His hair is in disarray again, and it matches the dark circles under his eyes for a look of unkempt and sad. Dean suspects the only reason they haven’t woken each other up with nightmares is because he sleeps at the top of the bell tower and Castiel prefers his room in the converted transept of the church.

The angel looks so small and diminished, sitting at a messy kitchen counter trying to force down a terrible breakfast of his own making. It’s the first time Dean hasn’t been afraid in his presence since Cas tried to use his fists as persuasion.

A surge of affection and love rises in Dean’s chest. He’s not ready to forgive Cas. The hurt runs too deep for a few weeks of anger, but he is ready to start trying. The fact he still loves the angel is enough.

“Will you go on a date with me?” Dean blurts.

Cas’ eyes snap up to his, startled. When a small, hesitant smile creeps over his face, Dean knows he’s made the right choice.

There’s no worry, no panic, just a little nervousness. Cas hasn’t answered, and it’s going to break his heart if the angel decides Dean isn’t worth the effort of a date. Because sure, Cas might like his soul, love him without reservation, and want to bend him over the nearest available surface, but that doesn’t mean Dean’s _dating_ material.

“I’d be honored to go on a date with you, Dean.”

Dean can’t hide the grin that blooms at Cas’ words. His skin, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, tingles with anticipation. Cas wants a date.

“Well that’s a relief,” he laughs, letting out an explosive breath. “And don’t think that just because we’re dating I’ve forgiven you. I still expect groveling at every opportunity.”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas replies. He’s still smiling, though Cas’ face has darkened a little at Dean’s words.

“Now, I need you to keep Friday evening free ‘cos I’ve already got something planned, okay?”

“That is acceptable.”

Score. If Cas is pulling the acceptable line then their date was gonna be awesome. Not that Dean has ever actually planned a first date. Lisa and he had just fallen together. Benny, for all his Southern charms, had picked Dean up in a bar and they’d fucked on and off for a few weeks until they settled down enough to have a proper relationship.

Cas is the kind of person who’d take offence to Dean simply showing him to his bed and how to use it. Plus being physically close to Castiel pushes him into fear and panic on a good day. So perhaps they can start with hand-holding or something equally as cutesy.

“So… Have any new cases?” Dean asks. Making conversation. He can do this. With his date.

Cas frowns at his charred pancakes and stabs at them with unnecessary force.

“I’ve been attempting to track down a missing person for the last few weeks,” he says.

“No luck?”

“No , _leads_. With how things have been between us I was unsure if I could secure your help,” Cas reveals. The angel keeps his eyes firmly fixed on Dean, having given up on eating his pancake.

“Dude. Since when have I ever turned you down? Life and death situations come before our drama!”

Castiel eyes him with a steely gaze, downs his own mug of coffee in one gulp, and stands.

“I’d hardly use the word ‘drama’.” Castiel air quotes. Dean is in deep shit. “You were physically _assaulted_ by me. I laid hands on your person without permission, nor care for your well-being. Forgive me if I thought the idea of us working _closely_ together was a bad plan. You may prioritize every other person on the _planet_ over yourself, but I cannot allow that. To me, you come first, and I am _not_ going to risk you pretending everything is okay and hurting yourself more for my sake.”

Dean glares back. “It isn’t _your_ decision to make. You should have told me, Castiel.”

Cas sits abruptly. If Dean didn’t know better, he’d think Cas is about to cry.

“I don’t know what to do, Dean. Every decision I make is wrong,” Cas says. It’s so quiet Dean barely hears it.

Dean takes a gulp of air to process. He’s reduced Castiel of the Seraphim to this. A broken person in a broken church, questioning their ability to make the right choice. He’d feel guilty, hell he does feel guilty, but some of Cas’ choices recently have been so off-target that he can’t give Cas the reassurance he’s seeking.

“Not every decision. You agreed to go on a date with me,” Dean grins. “And the problem ain’t you making bad decisions, it’s you trying to make them _for_ me. That’s what my family did and I’m not exactly talking to them right now. You gotta let me fuck up my own life, Cas.”

Dean very slowly reaches out his hands, relishing in Cas’ complete look of shock when he wraps their fingers together. Dean waits for a spike of grace, or a growth of power from Castiel, but it never comes. They simply exist together, in the moment, with none of Dean’s worries taking over, and none of Cas’ insecurities coming to the forefront. It’s nice.

“It’s hard for me to let you put yourself in harm’s way for me. Especially now,” Cas confesses. “I am not sure how well I could handle such an event.”

The angel, on closer inspection, looks worse than Dean thought. His nails are worn down to the beds, cracks and blood drying where he’s bitten too far. Cas’ hands and clothes are spattered with ink from the old fountain pen he stubbornly uses to take notes with, and there’s a distinct rumpled air about him. Dean’s hardly been handling things well, but seeing Cas trying to hide things from him so he can be angry without feeling bad settles something in him. Cas isn’t as unaffected as Dean thought.

Cas cares. He loves Dean back and as more than a pretty ornament or possession he can show off to the world. It’s a wonderful feeling.

“Just. Don’t hide things from me? Please?”

Cas’ brow furrows and he lets out a sigh.

“I asked a friend to perform a location spell for me,” he says.

Dean frowns. It’s not that he’s jealous exactly, just that. No he’s completely jealous. Witches aren’t exactly rare, but witches who live in the city rather than the countryside after college are few and far between. Cas went to someone Dean _knows_ for help. He’ll soon realize that everything Dean can do for him someone else can do better, and then he’ll leave. Dean will get a couple of dates, and that should be enough for him. Dean can’t wish unhappiness on them, Cas deserves to be happy even if Dean is still angry with him.

“Who?” Dean asks. His voice cracks a little and Cas switches from reluctant and apologetic to concerned. He picks up his mug of coffee and takes a sip so he can avoid saying more.

“Um. A witch. Her name is April,” Castiel shifts uncomfortably on his stool. He won’t meet Dean’s eyes.

“April? The only April I know who’d have the power to pull something like that off isn’t a witch,” Dean says. He furrows his brow, trying to remember who exactly April was. There’s a limited number of species that can pull off a location spell, let alone pass as human.

“Of course not. Because you know every witch in the city,” Castiel snaps.

Dean nearly drops his coffee mug. He hadn’t meant to make Castiel angry. He takes a moment to feel afraid before dragging his eyes back up to meet Castiel’s.

“Yeah, actually, I do. There was a bullshit law passed in the seventies that forces every witch to register with the local authorities so that we can be easily monitored. When the Species Minorities Act got passed that register got moved to the care of other witches. Take a guess at who the responsible witch in this area Cas is?” Dean says. His voice is steady, but it must carry enough anger for Castiel to be cowed.

The angel sheepishly breaks eye contact, staring down at his lap in embarrassment.

“I had no idea. There is no corresponding law for angels,” he says quietly.

“Yeah, well. The government likes to forget about it and angels kept to themselves. And you got thousands of years of positive shit behind you. Nobody hunted angels and burnt them at stakes,” Dean says quietly. “Now, April might be an unregistered witch, but she’s still on my territory without permission. Or she’s something else. Either way that doesn’t usually bode well.”

“She’s not a bad person, Dean,” Castiel justifies. The pinched look on his face tells a different story. Cas knows something is off with her.

“Okay. Say I believe you. Describe her to me, the name April rings a bell, but I can’t place her face.”

“She’s small. Long blonde hair. Quite a round face. Likes black leather jackets?” Castiel replies.

Dean stiffens as the memory he’s groping for comes to mind. A demon who set a hellhound on him in a back alley of Sioux Falls for no other reason than her own entertainment.

“Shit Cas. That’s no witch. April’s a demon,” he gasps.

Cas stands immediately and begins pacing in agitation.

“That’s not _possible_ ,” he says. It’s like he’s trying to convince himself and all Dean wants to do is jump up and comfort him. He can’t imagine being deceived like Cas has.

“Cas-.”

“No. That can’t be right. I would have _known_.”

“Hey Cas,” Dean says. He moves over to the angel, standing in front of him and taking hold of his arms. “You’re okay. It’s all okay. Whatever is bothering you, it’s not your fault.”

Castiel pulls away with force, igniting panic in Dean’s stomach.

“She _lied_ to me,” Castiel growls.

Static builds in the air. It’s all Dean can do not to run. They’ve made good progress on the angelic warding, but Dean’s nowhere near ready to do anything on the fly.

“Cas, you need to calm down. Sing kumbayah or whatever your hippie classes tell you to do,” he tries. If he needs to, he can throw up a protection circle before Castiel gets near him.

“ _You_.”

Castiel’s eyes turn on him and they’re filled with fury. The fact that they’re blue, rather than white with grace, eases some of his panic, but not enough that he goes off the defensive.

“Are you a witch? Or are you lying to me too?”

“Only witches can set protection circles, Cas. Everyone knows that,” he replies. He keeps his body language calm and open, begging to whatever power is listening that Castiel will believe him.

Just like that, all of Castiel’s anger vanishes, leaving a thoroughly upset angel in his kitchen.

“Come here,” Dean commands. He holds out his arms for Cas to step into a hug.

Cas obeys immediately.

“I should have known,” he whispers into Dean’s ear. “The sulphur, the black flames, the things she used for her spells.”

“Not your fault,” Dean says. His chest tightens a little as the hug continues, so he pushes at Cas’ arms. The angel lets go instantly.

“Demons aren’t all bad, you know. April has the capacity to do good things.”

Cas sends him a dark look. That’s fair, she was unpleasant enough when he met her.

“It’s true! I take it she didn’t ask for bits of your grace in payment, so what did she ask for?”

Cas rubs the back of his neck and looks away awkwardly.

“It was mostly of a personal and carnal nature,” he says flatly.

Dean stares. Cas fucked a demon for this information. Cas would rather sleep with someone else than ask him for help.

He moves away from Castiel.

“Who are you looking for?”

That’s it. Move the conversation away from this. He was stupid to ever think Cas saw him as anything special. Cas is perfectly entitled to fuck whoever he wants. It’s not like they were in a relationship at the time.

“An angel. Naomi of the Dominions. Dean are you alright? You’ve become distressed,” Cas says. He moves closer, and Dean flinches back.

“I’m _fine_. And an angel’s missing. I would have thought the whole city would be on lock-down. Wait. Naomi? Isn’t she that _bitch_ who brainwashed you?”

Castiel recoils. “You are correct.”

“And you still didn’t come to me. Cas, what she did was messed up, you gotta be having some serious problems with this,” Dean says. He can’t believe Cas would do this to himself. And without Dean to make sure he was looking after himself.

“Not really. She is far less of an adversary than Zachariah,” Castiel replies. The angel is shutting down, a prime example of him not being able to deal with whatever he’s feeling.

“Cas. This is an angel who manipulated and controlled you for thousands of years. You can’t convince me you’re alright with helping her,” Dean states. He moves back into Castiel’s space, and notes the half-aborted lean towards him. Cas is in no state to deal with this.

“I-. I don’t know what you want me to say, Dean. She may have been cruel, but she still deserves my help.”

“Would you say that if Alastair came to class and I happily taught him?” Dean asks. It’s a low blow. Dean is long over the demon and their awful relationship, the one that lead to him thinking _Crowley_ was a good alternative, but Cas harbors a hatred for him that’s never died.

“He wouldn’t make it through your door.”

Cas puffs up, all righteous fury and protective wrath.

“See why I’m worried,” Dean comments, mildly, patting Cas on the arm.

“Oh. I had not thought you would care.”

Dean takes a pace back in surprise. “Dude, being angry with you doesn’t mean I stopped giving a shit. Give me a _little_ credit here.”

The thought of Castiel thinking so lowly of him stings. No wonder he went to April.

Castiel is staring at him with pure affection. ”You are a good man, Dean. But I will continue my search. Something is not right with her disappearance.”

He tries to latch onto the thought that Cas thinks he’s a good man, but it’s drowned out by thoughts of April. 

“Dean? You’re not okay,” Cas interrupts. He reaches out again, this time hand landing on Dean’s shoulder. There’s a burst of magic and Cas takes back his hand as if stung.

“That was uncalled for.”

“So was smashing my face with your fist, but it didn’t stop you, did it?” Dean bites out.

Cas recoils. A hurt expression crosses his face, but it’s quickly replaced with a blank mask.

“I’ll gather my notes. Perhaps you’ll find something I missed.”

“Try not to fuck any demon bitches while you’re searching,” Dean mutters.

Castiel spins on the spot and bursts out laughing.

“Dean. Are you _jealous_?” he snorts. “I got away with a simple kiss this time. I didn’t, as you so eloquently put it, ‘fuck any demon bitches’ if that’s what’s worrying you.”

Dean glares. Misplaced anger wells up. He has no hold on Cas. He has no right to these feelings. They have arranged one date in the future. Who cares if Dean is in love with Cas? The angel clearly doesn’t love him back, despite the feeling layering his grace.

“Was it nice?”

“The kiss? Dean. I have been misled and lied to by April for years. It was pleasant, but all I could think of was you. While our interactions may have at one time held some emotional components, such feelings have long since vanished. My affections have been focused on another for some time now,” Cas says. He’s slowly moved towards Dean until they’re nearly touching.

“Whatever doubts you have about my intentions towards you-.” Castiel stops suddenly.

He reaches out and cradles Dean’s face in his hands. Dean tries not to react, but can’t help leaning into his touch. He’s meant to be angry dammit. He may be a hypocrite, but he’ll go down swinging.

“I realize our situation has been complicated by my recent actions. Dean Winchester, had I not lost control of myself and harmed you in such a heinous fashion we would have long passed this uncertainty. Please do not take my lack of action as a reflection of my feelings for you. I thought it best to let you set the pace, seeing as I have proved myself untrustworthy in such matters,” Castiel rushes. His eyes are filled with nothing but honesty, and his words settle something deep within Dean. They heal a hurt he hasn’t even noticed he was carrying.

“Okay,” he replies. “Okay.”

Dean takes one of Castiel’s hands in his own, the other dropping from his face naturally, and steps into his personal space.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Cas. I _love_ you, but I’m scared. I love you so much that it terrifies me,” he murmurs.

“Because of what I did.”

“No! I can take a little pain. It sucked that it came from you but it’s hardly the first time I’ve been smacked around. I’m more worried that next time I’ll _let_ you. I mean. I’ve had that kind of relationship and it sucks.”

Castiel clutches at him at his words. The grip on his hand falling on just the wrong side of painful.

“Who forced themselves on you?” he growls.

“Whoa! Nobody. Jesus, Cas. Can the avenging angel already. I meant that I’ve done shit I’m not proud of. I fucking _consented_ to doing it because I thought I was in love,” Dean yells back. “Not all my issues are Cas-related.” Castiel knows the bare-bones of the Alastair situation. And the Crowley one. And only because he spilt the beans in a drunken ramble about demons one night.

“Oh. Dean. You must never feel beholden to me. I cannot see you hurt again at my, or any other’s hand. You want me to be honest with you? Promise me the same. If you ever feel pressured into something, tell me,” Cas begs.

“Okay. Honesty. Right. We can do that.”

They’re standing so close. Dean can feel the rise and fall of Cas’ chest against his own. The electric, comforting scent of the angel fills his nose. He knows how it would taste if he was to kiss Cas right now, he couldn’t get the memory of the taste out of his mouth for days after the incident. Mixed in with how terrified he was at the time. Even Benny being so close and available didn’t help.

Of course Cas clears his throat and steps away instead of reading Dean’s mind and kissing him senseless.

“Do I sense a hint of forgiveness?” he says, smiling.

“There’s been a horrible lack of apology pie. But it’s been weeks and I think I can trust you again. Let me help you out on your case and we can consider things even.” His eyes catch sight of the clock and he hurries to grab his bag and coat. “I’ve got to go. See you later?”

He leans in and kisses Cas on the cheek before he can think.

Their eyes meet for a second in surprise before Dean flees.


	6. Modern Parable

Over the next few days Castiel watches Dean with new eyes.

The witch has regained some of his vitality and vivacity. He’s laughing again. Poking fun at Castiel without a hint of fear of a violent reprisal. He’s also caring again, a little of Dean’s compassion has trumped his fear of Castiel to make sure the angel is fine. It’s endearing but what Castiel was trying to prevent by hiding his mission in the first place.

The witch spends a lot of time sitting cross-legged on the island counter in the kitchen while Castiel researches ways to get into Crowley’s compound. Sometimes his head is buried in the book on angels Castiel gave him, magic wavering in the air as Dean uses it to work around his dyslexia, sometimes he’s spell-crafting, other times marking his student’s work. It is exceedingly pleasant to have his company again.

After a heated discussion on April’s location spell, which ends in Dean making disgusted noises and repeating everything he says in increasingly patronizing tones, Dean insists on redoing it. Castiel agrees with him that confirmation of Naomi’s location before breaking into Crowley’s compound would be good. 

Dean also chews Castiel out over handing Naomi’s hair to April. He had only a vague idea of what someone with April’s abilities could do with it, but Dean’s ominous discussion of curses make him thankful she never kept any of his genetic material.

“Really though, eating the tongue of a toad?”

Castiel glances up from where he’s been reading through one of Dean’s spell books. The witch apparently found it amusing the develop ways around mundane and supernatural methods of detection. It’s fascinating and creative, although most of the spells are questionable in the eyes of the law.

“I get demon and nasty go together but _yeash_.”

Dean is currently performing his own location spell, carefully mixing a benign selection of herbs. He’s completely encased in a bubble of power. Not even Castiel would dare attempt to break it now, no matter how irritating Dean is being.

“Trovi Lokon!” Dean cries, and his map lights on fire in the same way April’s did. The origin of the flames reflect their caster. That’s what Castiel has discovered. Seeing Dean’s cheerful white flames, mixing into gorgeous blues and greens as it burns, makes him smile.

“So either Naomi moved, or April was lying out her ass. Giving Naomi’s hair to her probably let her divert the spell to anywhere she wanted.”

His circle drops, allowing Castiel a look at the remains of his map. The area highlighted is on the opposite side of the city to where April said Naomi was, in the middle of some abandoned buildings. The land itself is owned by Abaddon, Crowley’s far more vicious competition.

Whilst Crowley exists under a veneer of a smooth, above-board businessman, Abaddon has no need for such a façade. She revels in chaos and ruin, producing semi-organized gangs and terrorist cells by the dozen. They pay for her weapons, and she laughs as they reduce her section of the city to ruin. Nothing can be traced back to her, as with Crowley, but she does not pretend to be anything other than a demon hell-bent on destruction. He’s not sure which of the two is more dangerous.

They can’t drive there, it would be far too dangerous to openly move through Abaddon’s territory at this time of night. The police have long-since given up, choosing to ignore the area at night and remove the dead in the morning.

“So are we gonna go now?” Dean asks. There’s a little nervousness in his tone that Castiel cannot blame him for. Dean isn’t as invulnerable as himself, even with protection charms running. A witch walking into Abaddon’s lands without permission is tantamount to suicide.

Castiel rolls his eyes. “We can fly.”

Dean just looks at him with unabashed horror. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“Because?”

“Because I’m fucking scared of flying.”

Castiel squints at Dean.

“Naomi needs our help. We should use the quickest method available to us. I won’t let you fall, Dean,” he tries to reassure the witch. He was aware of Dean’s loathing for airplanes, but had not realized his dislike extended to angelic flight.

“We could just teleport?” Dean suggests.

“It makes you ill and I do not have the grace to spare.”

Dean looks helpless for a moment before steeling himself.

“Fine.”

The witch heads outside without grabbing a coat. Castiel has more foresight than that and ensures he’s wearing a thick black trench-coat before following Dean out the back-door. He tries to ignore his fears and worries about seeing his tormentor again, and manages to succeed by focusing on Dean.

The church has a graveyard repurposed as Dean’s witch’s garden. In amongst the heather and thyme, rose and blackberry, peeps headstones and the occasional cross. Dean was initially freaked out at using a graveyard as a garden, but after discovering Kevin, a friendly ghost from the 1800s who claimed it for himself, he settled and used it with barely-hidden glee.

Castiel stretches out with his grace, drawing in his wings from the heavenly plane. It is the only part of him that can dwell there and revealing them always brings a sense of longing with them.

He stretches his great jet-black wings to their fullest extent, almost brushing the buildings on either side of the garden and shakes a little, allowing the loose feathers to fall from them.

When he returns his gaze to Dean, the witch is staring at him with unabashed wonder. He reaches out a hand to stroke one of the wings, and retracts it before they connect. Dean looks at him, silently asking permission which Castiel grants without thought. Although angels rarely marry as a love-match, they do form monogamous pairings. To allow Dean to touch his wings is a declaration of intent to marry, not that Dean will recognize that.

Dean’s cold hand connects with his right wing, and it sets a fire of joy in his heart. The touch is so gentle, but as his hand buries into the feathers it stirs a passion deep within Castiel’s chest. If he did not already belong to Dean body, heart, and grace, then this touch would have confirmed it. His wings are the closest thing he has to a physical manifestation of his grace. A grace that has somehow settled from its need to claim and turned instead to cooperating with his need for love.

“How do you wish to do this?” Castiel asks. As pleasant as Dean’s touch is, it is an avenue that they can explore when a woman’s life is not on the line.

Dean takes back his hand and Castiel mourns the loss of contact, even as he accepts its necessity.

“I take it you can’t just piggy-back me.”

The idea of Dean trying to cling to his back whilst his wings are in motion is quite frankly alarming, and enough of it must show on his face to discourage Dean.

“It would be easier for me to carry you in my arms.”

“Fuck no.”

Castiel manages to prevent himself sighing openly, but curses Dean in six separate languages in the safety of his own head. Whatever deep-seated issues Dean has about trusting people and being vulnerable around them, Castiel doesn’t have time for it. Which is, of course, when he remembers that Dean might not be entirely comfortable with putting his life in the hands of the man who almost killed him two months ago.

He chooses to stare at Dean rather than say anything. The witch usually agreed when Castiel resorted to staring.

Dean, of course, rises to the challenge. The witch’s eyes have always been alluring, from the first day Castiel wandered into his office, looking for an expert on witchcraft. He’d taken one look at this put-together professor, suited up to the nines and hunched over some academic paper and decided there and then that he would never be of any use. Professor Winchester shattered his conceptions within thirty seconds when he looked up, eyes framed by reading glasses and sparkling with mischief and amusement.

Dean’s eyes again take on that spark of mischief that so drew Castiel to him and he flings himself at Castiel, who barely catches him in a bridal carry, arms wrapped around his neck. Castiel’s wings involuntarily wrap around them, plunging them into darkness.

“Stellumo,” Dean intones.

Little sparks of light drift from his chest to light the space, bathing them both in golden light. It brings Dean’s face into sharp relief, freckles dotting his nose and cheeks.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Dean jokes and plants a kiss on the very tip of Castiel’s nose.

He wrinkles it before he can stop himself. This is the second time Dean has voluntarily kissed him. But not on the lips. His nose tingles a little where Dean kissed him in a wonderful manner. Their date is in two days and though there is nothing he would like to do more than kiss Dean senseless, he wants to do this right.

So he ignores Dean’s teasing, and takes to the skies, reveling in the freedom, and the way Dean grips tighter.

The city spreads out below them, lights twinkling in the dark. It’s quite beautiful up here, and despite the restrictions on flying species, there are always a few who dare to spread their wings in urban areas. Flying is a luxury he has not indulged in for many months.

He looks down at Dean, so fragile in his arms, and sings his praises to his father that he has been granted this second chance. Dean’s eyes are screwed tightly shut, and he’s shaking more, though Castiel decides it’s probably more because the temperature is freezing at this altitude, rather than fear.

“Open your eyes, Dean,” he shouts over the roar of the wind.

Elation is the first and foremost feeling an angel feels when they go flying and Castiel desperately wants Dean to get the same sensation running through his veins.

Dean opens his eyes for a second and peers at the ground before shutting his eyes again.

“Nope. The ground.”

“What’s wrong with the ground?” Castiel asks.

There’s nothing to compare to this view, apart from Iceland. With the sky full of colors.

“We’re not on it.”

Castiel smiles to himself, pulling Dean a little tighter to his chest. It’s going to take less than a minute to reach their destination, but he flies faster anyway. There’s time enough to enjoy the skies when Dean’s not narrowly avoiding panic.

He touches down smoothly, tucking his wings away with barely a thought. They’re in a carpark next to the warehouse housing Naomi. Dean doesn’t seem to notice, humming what Castiel recognizes as Metallica. His skin is cold to the touch, as Castiel sets him upright on the ground. Witches, elves, and humans all share a sensitivity to cold that angels do not share.

He shrugs off his trench-coat, the black one that Dean likes, and hands it over. Dean must be freezing to accept it without argument.

“Thanks, Cas,” he says, teeth chattering. “I can set fire to things, but I never bothered to fine-tune heat spells.”

Castiel smiles in return, half in acknowledgement of Dean’s thanks, and half to hide the sadness welling in his heart. It’s unsurprising that a man who lost his mother to a fire would rather concentrate on other areas of witchcraft.

“She should be in here.”

He pushes the door to the warehouse open with a flick of grace, knowing it irritates Dean that he takes shortcuts like that.

It swings over and Dean summons balls of light to his hands, flinging them into the air with practice. The space is lit in orange hues as the balls hover in the air. There are metal walkways hanging from the ceiling, and an open concrete floor interrupted by the occasional heavy pillar. It is completely empty.

Castiel moves forwards when Dean tugs his arm urgently.

He slows, allowing Dean to stop him. The witch’s instincts are second to none, so it’s entirely possible that he’s noticed something Castiel hasn’t. When Dean points out a slumped figure in the far corner, he proves it.

Even from this distance, he can tell it’s Naomi by the shock of red hair. He freezes. There is nothing that can force him to move one step closer to this woman. Castiel can barely _breathe_ , let alone think. Naomi has been inside his head so many times. She drilled and prodded and altered until he couldn’t tell where he began and she ended. It’s taken him years to escape her poisonous influence and for what? For him to voluntarily walk back into her arms.

Dean had been right to be concerned for his mental state.

“Cas?” he says, picking up on Castiel’s hesitation.

“I don’t. I can’t,” he says. His breathing has picked up and he can’t seem to get his heartbeat back under control. It races away from him faster and faster every moment he spends thinking about Naomi.

All he can think about is the pain and her drill and her cold impassive face as she ignored his begging and screaming. Much like he did with Dean. Perhaps he is no better than her.

His vision starts spotting, black and white sparks flickering across his eyes.

“Hey, Cas!”

Dean is suddenly there, hands clutching either side of his face, heads touching. The rest of the world melts away as he looks into Dean’s eyes, the green rimmed by the silver of his magic, grounded by his touch and his presence.

“You’re okay Cas. Just breathe for me, alright?” Dean murmurs, a constant stream of comfort trickling from his lips.

It could be days of seconds before he calms, the swell and sway of Dean’s voice cradling him and keeping him safe. Not that he could possibly deserve it. After he hurt Dean so badly, he can’t understand why Dean came back. He’s eternally grateful, but Dean should be with someone he deserved. Not someone who could explode any day.

“There we are. Now you stay here and keep watch for me, okay?” Dean says. He can be so _gentle_ , this soldier turned professor.

Simmering anger and a mask to hide the hurt of decades of a fight unending, has given way to this. The damaged man underneath. The one who would trust in demons and vampires and angels, and who had such trust betrayed over and over by kin and circumstance.

Dean is so very young still. Mid-nineties is paltry in comparison to Castiel’s millennia. They are both injured by their stay in the world, yet Dean has retained his innocence in a way Castiel has long lost. Dean still sees the best in people, and hopes for their redemption. Whether this has been born of necessity to keep himself from shattering under the weight of an unhappy existence or some intrinsic quality untouched by a harsh life, Castiel makes sure to praise his father every day that Dean is as of yet untouched by such darkness.

So Castiel lets him go. The young man he has fallen in love with despite his better judgment, for Dean is far too pure for one such as he, will destroy himself before seeing harm come to his loved ones. And perhaps he has set the witch upon a pedestal, Dean occasionally mentioned things he had done, or failed to do, which pointed towards moral failings on his part. Some of them were more obviously due to his poor self-image and blaming himself, but others were true mistakes. His words of fear at doing something terrible for love ring true. None-the-less, Dean has become a person to hold himself accountable to, now more than ever.

He watches Dean like a hawk as he moves over to Naomi. As he nears her, a fire springs up, holy fire, surrounding them both. Had Castiel gone he would be as trapped as Naomi. A memory springs unbidden in his mind, one where he is trapped within a circle such as this, but with Lucifer on the eve of his fall attempting to persuade him away from their father and his new creations. He did not listen, but the memory of the flames catching on his wings as Lucifer used it against him, burning them to their current black state, is a painful one. He would not wish that fate on anyone. Not even Naomi.

Dean has no bother with them, despite his misgivings with fire, simply conjuring water with a few words to put them out. He has no idea how dangerous such flames would be for any angel. Holy fire extends onto the heavenly plane wounding their very grace.

The pair exchange words and soon enough, Dean is helping Naomi over to where they stand. He doubts she has enough grace to even pull her wings onto this plane, let alone strength to fly with. Castiel will simply have to teleport them all back to the church. As soon as they reach him, he grasps Dean’s arm, staying as far from Naomi as possible, and does so.

They appear in the church sanctuary, and Dean quickly sits her down on one of the sofas that have replaced post of the pews. He looks shaken, and turning his gaze towards Naomi, Castiel can see why. She is beaten and hurt, face a patchwork of bruises and wrists showing clear marks of manacles. Only another angel could have done this. Neither Crowley nor Abaddon would have the clout to kidnap a high-ranking angel and harm her in such a manner.

Castiel has been gone from angelic society too long to understand how Naomi could have so quickly fallen from power.

Dean vanishes into the kitchen with a worried look in his direction. He hasn’t spoken a word since they retrieved Naomi, a sure sign that he’s in distress. It’s then that Castiel notices that his own hands are shaking.

He moves over to the closet in the wall and finds blankets for them all. It’s not been pleasant for anyone. Usually a successful retrieval comes with tears of joy and celebration. This is far from it.

Castiel cautiously approaches Naomi, giving her the blanket which she takes silently, and sits opposite her. She’s staring at the blanket, unbelieving.

“You rescued _me_ ,” she says. Her eyes swing upwards to meet his, “Why?”

Castiel takes a moment to look, truly look at Naomi of the Dominions. She is here, in his house, on holy ground. Her hair is in disarray and she’s wrapped in a blanket. All in all, she is far less imposing than she ever was in the reprogramming room. Yet he is still afraid.

“It was the right thing to do,” he replies.

They sit in silence until Dean comes back, balancing three mugs in his hands. There’s tea for Castiel and Naomi, hot chocolate for himself. Dean can be exceptionally sweet and open when he’s feeling safe.

“So, um,” Dean says, “Do y’know who kidnapped you?”

Naomi looks a little surprised to be spoken to by a witch and not Castiel himself, but answers anyway.

“It was ordered by Zachariah of the Principalities.”

Castiel frowns. Zachariah is for all intents and purposes, leader of their garrison in the absence of one of God’s first. He and Naomi were working together when he left.

“Why?” he asks.

He ignores the nervous glance Dean sends his way in favor of staring Naomi down.

Naomi sighs, “Since your departure, I discovered that Zachariah was involved with Crowley, the demon. He was selling the souls of mortals to Zachariah for use by our kind.”

Castiel says nothing. Dean shifts uncomfortably beside him, matching his inward thoughts. It does not surprise him that Zachariah has a hand in the illegal soul trade. Most angels have an insatiable appetite for them, to feed upon their uninhibited emotions which they are forbidden to have. He never had any proof, but he is more than a little surprised that Naomi didn’t know and finds it distasteful.

“I came to the conclusion that if Zachariah was so morally bankrupt, that perhaps I should question my orders and my own actions. I prayed to father,” she says, pleading eyes fixed upon first Castiel, then Dean. “I prayed again and again for revelation. Yet he would not answer.”

“He never does,” Castiel replies. He takes comfort in prayer, even if Dean sees no point in it. The altar is the only thing remaining untouched in the church.

Naomi seems a little surprised, but continues anyway. “I took his silence as a sign that I was on the wrong path. Our Father told us to love these mortals as he did, and yet we use them to fill a huge gaping crater that is carved out on Zachariah’s command. Surely we feel as much as any mortal, and should do.”

Despite his dislike and fear of her, even in this state, he can’t help but feel a little proud that this woman, so deeply entrenched in the lies of Zachariah, had concluded the same thing he did.

“I started reversing the programming Zachariah and I once believed necessary. I spent years speaking with dissidents and rebels until we began to gain momentum. Zachariah has few followers who would not stab him in the back at my command now.”

There are no coherent thoughts running through Castiel’s brain. Naomi instigated a rebellion. One poised on the brink of success. Had he stayed even a few more years, he would be as free as he is now. But never have met Dean.

“And Zachariah found this out? Why didn’t he just kill you?” Dean asks bluntly.

That’s highly insensitive. Dean’s usually better at dealing with people. Unless he’s taken offence to Naomi on Castiel’s account. Which is exactly like Dean, when he thinks about it. Castiel’s forced smile softens to something gentler at Dean’s attempt to defend him.

“If he kills me, another takes my place. Castiel has been held up as an example of a righteous angel, they would rally around him with more enthusiasm than before. And this time they’d have a martyr. Zachariah needed me _discredited_. And Castiel too. Setting me up in collusion with Abaddon was a good plan. Imagine if Castiel and I were found together by Zachariah, trapped on Abaddon’s land. It would be a scandal. Either that, or he was relying on Castiel to become angry enough to kill me for my past crimes.”

“So essentially, the only reason his plan failed is because Zachariah thought Castiel would go alone?” Dean asks.

“Zachariah would think I bound you to myself long ago. He wouldn’t believe we could live as we do,” Castiel says, taking Dean’s hand in his own.

“You are… Involved?” Naomi asks. She’s shocked, sitting stiffly upright in her seat face projecting her alarm.

“Yeah. Got a _problem_ with that?” Dean spits. He clutches Castiel’s hand tighter to his own.

“Not at all,” she replies, raising her hands in a placating gesture. “I was merely wondering how you circumvented the trigger to kill which activates when you are feeling sufficiently strong feelings of love?”

Dean walks out. Castiel doesn’t try and stop him as the witch disappears up the stairs to his room. He will have to deal with Naomi without him.

She appears distraught at her comment generating such a response. “It’s activated already. I am so sorry. It should be completely gone now.”

“You did this to me. Why?” Castiel asks. His voice shakes a little with anger. He hurt Dean due to her meddling.

“Before Heaven was lost to us, Michael became concerned that angels would question their loyalties to each other should they fall in love. We implanted a trigger in every angel’s head so that if this ever occurred, the threat would be eliminated. This fear is no longer warranted now we are bound to Earth. It was a cruel and unnecessary measure,” she explains.

“I _hurt_ Dean because of you.”

“You did. It was not your fault.”

“The fault does not matter. _My_ hands were the ones that shattered his bones, my face is the one he saw. Dean is gracious enough to forgive me without knowing that the blame lies externally, and that knowledge is more precious than you could ever conceive.”

“Surely Dean would know it was not you, if I explain-.”

“No. You have done quite enough to this relationship. And as I said, it doesn’t matter if I was acting on my own volition or not, when Dean was lying on the floor, bleeding and broken, he looked at me. The look in his eyes will haunt me for the rest of my life. You see, Dean is a man who puts all others above himself. He trusts very few people and the ones he does trust tend to end up hurting him, or making him feel like he isn’t enough, that there’s something wrong with him.”

Naomi tilts her head, confused.

“I am not doing a good job. Dean has a long history of relationships which failed due to circumstances outside of his control. His father hated that his son was a bisexual witch, following his mother’s footsteps. His brother chose a demon over him, and then had the gall to criticize every relationship Dean had afterwards.

“Dean was married, once. And had a child. Lisa and Ben. Lisa died of cancer, Ben from complications of AIDS. There was nothing Dean could do for either of them and they died within weeks of each other. He quit his job as a PI and became a Professor. He lost a wife and a child and yet still blames himself for not being able to save them.

“Like his brother, he became romantically entangled with a demon, well, demons. He left the relationship after the demon finished using him and became bored, utterly convinced that he would fail everyone he loved. That demon did nothing but manipulate him into feeling worthless. He drifted for a while then found Benny. Benny never treated Dean with anything other than complete reverence and love. I do not like the vampire, but what he did for Dean means I will respect him for his sake.

“They ended the relationship shortly before I met Dean. Dean wasn’t what Benny needed, but would have destroyed himself trying to be. It's just another failure in Dean's eyes. There have been other brief relationships, but they all left with some criticism of Dean as a person, which Dean believes.

“It’s not obvious, but Dean always puts other people’s needs first, even if they hurt him, and when he fails to be absolutely perfect they leave. I never wanted him to do that for me. My hands beat him into unconsciousness, and for _once_ , Dean took some time to get angry, to not bury everything and move on as if nothing was wrong. He didn’t lose himself in trying to make me happy.

“You telling him that I had no control won’t suddenly erase the pain and hurt he went through as a result. It isn’t going to make those feelings vanish. My face will be the one he sees when he had nightmares. All it will do is force him into forgiving everything and pretend his is okay. I can’t live like that.”

He finishes his speech when Dean clears his throat. Oh god, he must have heard everything.

“Y’know, it would be a lot easier if you just told me all that,” Dean says, grinning. “ _She_ fucked you up and everything is outside of your control. You want me to take things at my pace and forgive you for something that wasn’t your fault in the first place.”

“You shouldn’t do it if it’s just for me, Dean,” Castiel says. He leaves the couch and invades Dean’s personal space. “You’ve spent so much of your life keeping the peace. My _guilt_ is absolved due to this information, but the _impact_ remains. You were hurt by _my_ hands. Your anger and blame is entirely justified and although your forgiveness is not required, I would like it none-the-less, but only when you are ready.”

He cups Dean’s face in the palm of his hand. Dean suffers though a brief second of panic before relaxing into the touch. It’s the confirmation he needs.

“Fear isn’t always rational. In this case, it’s entirely justified. So don’t you _dare_ push this aside because you feel it’s the right thing to do. We’ll deal with this together. I am not going to leave you just because you’re not ready to trust the man whose face and hands betrayed that trust.”

Dean sighs, closing his eyes and nods. Castiel drops his hand, taking a step back.

“May I kiss you?” Castiel asks. The witch is completely alluring, bruises faded into obscurity, with only a dusting of freckles left to highlight his green eyes.

“You don’t need to ask permission,” Dean says. He pulls back, frowning. “I asked you on a date. You know I’m completely fucking head over heels for you.”

“It doesn’t give me the right to your body. There is a time and place for spontaneity, but I would rather our first kiss was consensual, seeing as I have distinct memories of forcing my lips on yours.” Castiel doesn’t mean to get angry, but the thought of Dean trapped beneath his hands is not a pleasant one.

“You have permission, Cas,” Dean replies quickly. He blushes suddenly, ducking his head to avoid Castiel’s stare. “It’s actually the first time someone asked for a kiss.”

Castiel leans in, pushing aside the brief flash of pain for Dean's past, wrapping an arm around Dean’s back and pulling their bodies close. Their noses knock and Dean grins from where he looks down on Castiel. He doesn’t have to stand on his toes, simply pulling Dean’s head down with his spare hands and locking their lips together.

It’s _bliss_. They start gently, Castiel ready to pull back instantly at any sign of discomfort on Dean’s side. All coherent thought vanishes when Dean’s arms wrap around his waist, one hand snaking low to grab his ass.

Castiel makes an indignant noise and pulls back, smiling at the sight of Dean, eyes wide and vulnerable but filled with joy. Dean lets out a filthy chuckle, all innocence vanishing under his leer.

“Let’s do that again sometime,” the witch says, and they both laugh.


	7. Waxing Lyrical

Every day that Castiel wakes up next to Dean is another day that he counts among his blessings. For all his rough, though exceedingly beautiful, exterior and the tough mask he wears, Dean has the gentlest soul of anyone he’s ever met. And Castiel reminds himself every day how lucky he is that Dean shares that with him.

It only shows on the surface rarely, in private, where there’s nobody else to see and nobody else to judge. It appears in the way Dean wakes up slowly, nuzzling into Castiel and wrapping around him like an octopus, and makes grumpy sounds when Castiel tries to disentangle them. It shows up in the way Dean soaps his hair into a mohawk and sings horribly off-key Taylor Swift while in the shower. It appears with his students, the ones who struggle or need extra help. 

Castiel’s favorite, however, is the way that Dean looks at him. It may be selfish, but Castiel craves the borderline reverential way Dean gazes at him from across a crowded room, or waking up to see Dean’s gentle smile. Dean touches him as if he’s the most precious thing in the world, and Castiel is hooked on the feeling.

So yes, when Castiel wakes up wrapped around Dean, with the younger man’s hair ticking his chest, he considers himself blessed, and this day is no different. The angels have long since won their rebellion, Castiel can allow himself these hours to devote to Dean.

Dean grumbles a little in his sleep, arms tightening around Castiel, and Cas reaches up to comb through his hair with his fingers. He revels in the way Dean relaxes into his touch, settling in his sleep. He’s a little heavy where he’s settled on Castiel’s chest, but Cas will bear it for the joy of being able to hold his witch safe in his arms for a little longer.

The sun streams in through the windows, lighting the tips of Dean’s hair a golden blond, and highlighting the freckles that smatter his cheeks and nose. Castiel relishes the opportunity to be awake before Dean, and watch him sleep.

There’s a softening to his face, and the worry and responsibility drains away when Dean sleeps. Or, at least, when Dean sleeps peacefully, like now. When they first started dating, Castiel had taken Dean’s reluctance to stay the night as a sign of his lack of commitment to their relationship, rather than something internalized in Dean. That or Dean still being scared of him snapping again and terrorizing him, despite his assurances that he’s forgiven him. Dean hadn’t even considered that Castiel would want him to stay the night, let alone believing that Cas would be willing to stay with him afterwards. 

The first time they slept in the same bed, Castiel had woken sometime during the night. He’s usually a heavy sleeper, not easily bothered by the small night-time disturbances that are common in ancient churches; thus he was a little more than peeved to have woken up before morning. Castiel noted the lack of Dean in the bed with him, taking it as yet another sign of Dean’s lack of honesty, and was just about to go back to sleep when he heard the first whimper.

It was quiet but desperate, as if the person making such a sound would rather be screaming, but couldn’t. He had sat bold upright, switching on the bedside light to find the source of the awful sound, only to find Dean. Dean who had reluctantly allowed Castiel to cuddle into him before falling asleep. Dean who laughed and joked and was brash and loud and confident. The Dean who took the time to listen to Castiel rant about the angels and their ongoing rebellion and lull him back into happiness.

That Dean was curled up on the floor next to Castiel’s bed, unconsciously making himself as small as possible, trembling and making some of the most heart-breaking noises Castiel had ever heard.

It was the night it all clicked into place. It was the night Castiel got a glimpse of Dean underneath the charming mask he wore, the witch still trying to save Castiel the guilt of his beating. As awful as it was to find the man he was in love with in such emotional turmoil and in such obvious pain, it allowed Castiel to help. He made a vow to never allow Dean to be hurt in such a way again. In finding out the real reason why Dean was so worried about staying the night, Castiel learnt to stop making assumptions about his boyfriend and start asking _why_ he had certain eccentricities. It taught Castiel that there was far more to Dean Winchester than met the eye, and that he might spend forever trying to unravel the mystery.

Since that horrifying first night where Castiel was forced to examine his own prejudices, things have gotten better. Dean doesn’t wake early and immediately, but instead trusts Castiel enough to languish in the drowsy half-asleep state he prefers. They can have lazy Sunday mornings, and hurried Wednesday mornings where Dean’s distracted them both to the point where they’re running late.

The past hasn’t vanished, but they’re moving forward.

And now, of course, Castiel gets to hold Dean in the mornings, and watch his contradictory, impossible, precious, soon-to-be-husband sleep.

He plants a gentle kiss to the top of Dean’s head, and resumes stroking through his hair.

“Hello, Dean,” he says, as Dean’s eyes flutter open sleepily.

“’m not a cat, y’know,” Dean mumbles into Castiel’s chest. He leans into the touch anyway.

“You most certainly are not; far too talkative to be a feline,” Castiel smiles. He gives Dean a tender kiss which is enthusiastically reciprocated.

“What time is it?” Dean asks, flopping back down onto Castiel’s chest.

“Some time after nine.”

Dean groans, scrunching his nose in disgust. It’s completely adorable, and Castiel has to resist the urge to kiss it, as Dean did to him when he took the witch flying for the first time.

“Why are we up so early, Cas?” he grumbles. He shuts his eyes tight again and buries himself in Castiel’s arms.

Usually it’s Cas who needs to be coaxed out of bed, but on occasion Castiel has to return the favor. Today appears to be one such day.

“So it’s all my fault then? Nothing at all to do with your student’s graduation,” Castiel teases, nudging Dean in the ribs.

Dean’s lips twitch upwards. “Nope. All you. I blame you _entirely_ for this mess.”

“Mess? Oh, I’m sorry, are you retrospectively retracting your agreement to show me off to all the faculty and get Bela Talbot to stop ogling you.”

Dean opens his eyes at that, sitting up and twisting to face Castiel.

“Never,” he says, softly. “Even if my fiancé is making me get up at this godforsaken hour."

Castiel represses a laugh, choosing to watch Dean shake off his sleepiness instead.

“Okay, I’ll grab a quick shower. I think I can trust you to amuse yourself for the next five minutes.” Dean’s look turns speculative. “Unless, of course, you feel like joining me?”

Castiel sighs. He’s shamelessly overindulged this morning, watching Dean sleep and musing on their early relationship instead of waking his almost-husband. On any other day, he’d be only too eager to join Dean, savoring the view of the water cascading over his naked body: watching it run over his toned arms, and his soft stomach. His cock gives an appreciative twitch at the thought, but Castiel can’t let it get further than that. On any other day, Castiel would take the opportunity to worship at the altar of Dean Winchester, but today they have somewhere to be.

“I know,” Dean says, spotting Castiel’s inner battle. “If you come too we’ll end up fucking ‘til the hot water runs out.”

Castiel has to stifle a groan at Dean’s words. Dean is undeniably attractive. It was, in all honesty, what originally drew Castiel to him. The beautiful professor in his office. Dean has only become more exquisite since.

He gives Castiel a quick kiss before sliding out of bed and heading for the shower. Castiel’s eyes follow hungrily, taking in the rippling muscles of Dean’s back, the soft swell of his ass, and his adorable bow legs. He’s about 90% sure that Dean gives a little shimmy on purpose, swinging his hips a little wider than normal, but it could be his imagination. Dean could be a complete shit sometimes. But Castiel loved him for it, knew it before getting together.

Castiel eventually finds the inner-strength to roll out of bed, slipping on a comfortable pair of pajama pants before heading downstairs to start the coffee. He know better than to attempt cooking breakfast, his attempts usually ending in fire or inedible results. If he listens carefully, he can hear Dean singing Metallica in the shower.

Dean’s fine, most days. It’s rare that he looks at Castiel with fear anymore, or worry. Every so often the witch flinches at the memory of Castiel’s hands on him, and spends the next day apologizing the same way he does after a nightmare.

Castiel is not sure it will ever entirely vanish. The subconscious is a strange and mysterious place and with Dean’s understandable terror of ever connecting soul and grace, there is only time left to prove Castiel’s devotion to him. He cannot imagine a world in which he ever lashes out at Dean in anger, or the need for control and possession. He would rather die than have his hands become the instrument of destruction Dean fears.

Dean appears from the bathroom, hair damp, and glowing with health and happiness. He seems to sense Castiel’s mood immediately, moving close and drawing him into a kiss.

Castiel leans into the touch, pulling Dean closer so that they’re buried in each other’s arms. Dean smells clean, the faint smell of soap clinging to his skin.

“You’re kind of scaring me Cas,” he says, planting a soft kiss to the top of Castiel’s head.

“Sorry for worrying you,” Castiel whispers.

He pulls backwards, taking Dean’s hand in his own and leading him to the kitchen.

“Let me get us both coffee, and we can talk about it,” he tells Dean.

He wants Dean safe and happy and wrapped in his arms. Always. There’s no quick fix, no going around the fact that his witch is suffering from a lifetime of trauma, of which Castiel’s beating is the tip of the iceberg.

It’s almost a year to the day and the world has changed. Angels freely mix with the rest of the population, Naomi is their elected representative. Castiel didn’t vote for her, but then again, he prefers Dean’s company and those of his friends he made in his exile to angels.

Crowley and Abaddon are still duking it out over control of the underworld and April has all but vanished off the face of the planet. Dean’s fear is the only thing marring an otherwise perfect existence.

Coffee steaming, he passes Dean a cup and leans back against the counter.

“You’re still scared sometimes,” he says quietly.

Dean looks away from a second, hand tightening around his mug. “Yeah, I am. Sometimes your eyes catch the light and they glint the same way they did when I got hurt. I know it wasn’t you,” he says. He’s completely certain of his words. There’s no doubt there. Perhaps Castiel truly is forgiven.

“Oh,” Castiel replies.

“Oh indeed. Cas, I got issues far beyond whatever angelic meddling made you snap. It’s not always you,” Dean smiles softly.

It makes sense. Dean has been a part of more wars than Castiel likes to think about. He has decades of violence and anger in his past, the angel may have taken Dean’s rare moments of hesitation more personally than they were about.

The witch moves into his space, electrifying the air between them with his very presence. He leans in, just past his ear and whispers, “I could _destroy_ you if you even tried to hurt me.”

Castiel can’t hide his shiver, fear mixing with desire. Dean doesn’t often let out his dominant side, preferring Castiel to take the lead in the bedroom, but on days like this, when Castiel’s head is doubting and his worries drown out all common sense, Dean enjoys taking Castiel apart. They’ve found some very creative uses for the angel defense spells Dean’s been practicing and developing. It puts them back on an even power-level.

Dean pulls back and Castiel lets out a little groan of lust.

The witch grins wide and happy at the result of his work.

“Get in the shower Cas. We have a ceremony to get to,” he rumbles, slapping Castiel on the ass as he passes.

“Can I kiss you right now?”

Dean nods, blushing a little as he always does when Castiel asks. As their lips touch, Dean lets out the very tiniest of sighs. His hands come up to cup Dean’s face as their kiss deepens, drawing them closer together. As they break apart, they keep their foreheads together, just breathing in time and taking comfort in their closeness.

Something in Castiel’s heart settles down. Dean is fine. The reminder that not everything is Castiel’s fault is an important one and one that he needed.

With everything that has happened, Castiel will forever be grateful for Dean. He is the love of his life, and he can’t find it in himself to regret a single moment of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously go check out, [esper_aroon's](esper-aroon.tumblr.com), awesome drawings. Check out their work [here.](http://esper-aroon.tumblr.com/tagged/speaking%20in%20tongues%20art)
> 
> A big thanks for sticking with this to the end, please leave a comment or kudos if you enjoyed!


End file.
